


Insomnia Plague

by coffinofachimera



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anger, Angst, Arguing, Blood, Break Up, Death, Depression, Established Relationship, Flashbacks, Ghosts, Grudges, Guilt, Homophobia, Liam-centric, Loss, M/M, Mental Illness, Monologuing, Murder, Mystery, Plot Twists, Regret, Sad, Suicide Attempt, Surreal, Thriller, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-07-25 18:49:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 76,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7543915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffinofachimera/pseuds/coffinofachimera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Forced to wait out a freak storm together, Liam tries to reconnect with Louis after an argument forms a powerful gap in their relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No Pressure

**Author's Note:**

> The story explores the confusing contradictory and thoughts and emotions one experiences when faced with unfair situations. There can be a lot of misunderstandings.

"Activia..." Liam mumbles as he reaches into the refrigerator for the strawberry yogurt. He remembers buying this with Louis at Tesco. _"It's from that commercial. Activiaaaaa~ But that's the American one. Do you remember, Liam? It's like digestive yogurt. Get ready to unclog your pipes."_ And Liam laughed. He tries not to right now as he glances back at his memories. He just rips out a little yogurt cup from the brand-new pack of four. Ironically, Louis hasn't had any yet.

"—was when I like, physically walked over to carry this creepy little dog back to its bed. And it just stayed there looking at me like if it was so insulted that— ...With it's little fucking sweater, yeah!"

Liam looks over his shoulder to see that Louis's walked into the kitchen, chatting on his phone. He looks away quick and turns his attention back to the refrigerator as he gathers ingredients for his lunch. Sliced ham, turkey, pastrami, a ball of lettuce, and the little Activia yogurt cup are all he can fit in his arms before heading to the counter to drop it off.

"...No it was just the weirdest dog! And it wasn't even a normal colored dachshund. This thing looked like blue cheese..." There's a good mood flying around Louis on the wings of his laid-back laughs. He walks over to the kitchen cabinet to shuffle through some snacks, now a little closer to Liam. And Liam tries not to pay attention as he fidgets with his ingredients on the counter, his back now turned to Louis. Being hopeful and sad at the same time is never anything pleasant to deal with. Sometimes ignoring him is for his own good.

Liam left the refrigerator door wide open this whole time. He leaves the counter for another pick-up of ingredients.

Louis closes the door before he gets to it.

Liam frowns and bites back a frustrated bark, since he had to snap his hand back from inside the refrigerator to avoid getting his fingers crushed. Nothing for Louis to care about as he talks on. "...I heard they make shit pets... Yeah.... They're quite stubborn..." A glare is shot his way, but he isn't particularly interested in anything but the phone pressed to his ear and the crisps he pulled out of the cabinet.

If you leave the refrigerator door open too long it ruins the food— Louis must have that agenda in mind, is what Liam's telling himself to keep from being really angry. Maybe it was harmless distraction that made him unaware of Liam clearly reaching inside to get something, not anything sinister. Liam sighs and opens the refrigerator door again to gather more ingredients. Butter, mustard, tomatoes, and white cheese. Bending over he scans the shelves, the chilly air nice against his face.

"...You fucking would!" Louis has such a nice laugh. _Who's he talking to?_ Liam wonders as he reaches for the bowl of butter from the back of the refrigerator. Louis's always having a laugh with someone on the phone these days. Never Liam. Seeing him as his normal self is like looking back at a memory cursed with a sticky melancholy. Louis hasn't let himself be a bright soul with Liam in so long. It has to be conscious effort, a willful taunt. _'I'll never be like this with you again,'_ maybe. This is the only time Liam sees him smile and hears him laugh. An anomaly witnessed so very far away— a blue moon, an equinox, an eclipse. Except Liam can't let himself watch. That would just be humiliating since looking at him longingly is probably what Louis wants. How stupid— he's overthinking this again. "...Uh, I dunno really. Not much of a pet person meself, to be honest. Just in general..."

 _You never told me that._ Liam looks over his shoulder with the butter, mustard, tomatoes and white cheese cradled in his arms as he stays crouched over the open refrigerator. Louis's body reels his attention like bait swaying in the open water. Liam feels weak for watching, softening into a wistful restrain. The fervid genre of Louis's back-turned expressions; arms waved in enthusiastic narration, with his hip cocked lazily and socked feet sliding around the floor. He's in a tank top with grey sweatpants tucked into his socks. The fact Liam can tell he isn't wearing underwear makes him sad and blue again.

"...What? Oh uh... Yeah. Yeah I suppose he was..."

Liam turns his head back around and carries his ingredients to the counter. The food there has gotten sweaty with condensation thanks to his delay.

"...Yeah, it's a great dane... And a chihuahua too, actually. I think..."  
Liam has a great dane. Watson. And a chihuahua he never got around to naming before his ex girlfriend took custody after their breakup. He doesn't want to turn around. He fumbles blindly with the things on the counter to seem busy and invested in his own business. _He can't be talking about me._

"...And a husky! Loki, yeah..."

 _Jesus, he is._ Then it's bait— has to be. Something sinister behind his cheerful tone. Anxious, Liam looks to busy himself. The sliced bread is right in front of him, and he has enough ingredients to make a sandwich even if it's missing things. He reaches for the loaf and pulls out two slices to place on the bare kitchen counter. Ham, turkey, pastrami and white cheese to start off.

"...No it's fine. Don't worry about it..."

This sandwich isn't looking right. Maybe Liam should've placed some lettuce first. No, definitely the butter— to spread on the bread. He needs a knife but that's on the other side of the kitchen where Louis is. He wishes he would leave, but then he wouldn't be able to eavesdrop and quench his curiosity. _Is he thinking about me?_ Liam just snatches the bag of white cheese and reaches inside.

"...Yeah! Aw... Yeah, he left."

He feels stupid knowing his heart is beating so fast, cheese in his hand. What is this supposed to mean? His reaction, that is. Liam anticipates and fears and holds back in a spin cycle all at once. He wants it to mean something— that Louis misses him, maybe; water in the dessert. Praise God. But then why say it over the phone in the same room as him? Why not to his face? Does he want to make up? Is this some plan? The waving of bait? No one is ever that contrived, Liam reasons unwisely. The stress makes him indecisive and confusing even in his own consciousness. This is why it's better to just leave the room when Louis shows up.

"...I do miss him quite a bit. You know? It feels weird without him. We had such a bond..."

"Oh gosh." The cheese smells. Liam's face scrunches tightly. But he doesn't know if that's from the pungent stink of moldy dairy or the fact that Louis admitted to missing him while standing some four feet away from him. Because it has to mean something. It has to be deliberate. A message; a flair gun shot in the night sky. Liam has to be hopeful because Louis is being too obvious. He's too clever to insinuate something like that in a coincidence. Liam has an excuse to turn around and go to the refrigerator— he needs some cheese, that's all. Hopefully there will be a confrontation, a meeting of eyes. And while he hopes he ignores history. Because history will tell him that for twenty-three days he's been mistaking red herrings for red smoke in the sky.

Louis's back is still turned when Liam glances in his direction. Still talking. He opens the refrigerator. And Louis snaps his head to look over his shoulder to where Liam is standing. And there they are to each other. If Liam let himself he would give him a nod and a little smile, but he's deadpan instead to reflect Louis's own seeming apathy for him. Turns around to crouch in front of the refrigerator again. And there he lets out a deep breath, feeling embarrassed again that he's hopeful about finally making up with Louis. That red herring.

"...What? Sorry I... Oh, right. Yeah.... Yeah, I used to wake up every morning and check the bird house..."

Barbecue sauce, cheddar cheese, milk and an apple are in Liam's arms when he stops gathering to focus on what Louis is saying. _Bird house?_

"...Yeah, to see how the little baby was doing... They do grow up so fast. I'll miss the little lad... Yeah, Timmy was his name! I'm sad he's gone now..."

A heavy sigh replaces the frustrated cry Liam wishes he would let out. _He's talking about a baby bird... not me._

But a shout comes anyway. When Louis slams the refrigerator door right into Liam's back with mean force, making him knock forward into the refrigerator and drop everything he's carrying. It hurts in a lot of ways. It make an awful sound, and the refrigerator stays vibrating from the impact. A glass bottle of cherries tumbles off the door rack and shatters on Liam's back. It's too early to tell if that hurts yet. But he can feel his back soaked in cold syrup.

"Jesus I—"

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" Liam doesn't think Louis's ever pulled something like this before— not this physical. Not in hate, not without a laugh and an apology for the prank gone too far. Liam shifts back until he can close the refrigerator, still on his knees with the mess of spilled milk, cherries and barbecue sauce around him. Now he can feel it: the little stings on his back from sharp glass. Liam doesn't know what to do. He grunts in pain, brow furrowed deep and nostrils flared. When he turns he sees that Louis is just standing beside him, looking down at the mess like he's confused or maybe shocked.

"...Nothing I just— I dropped something..."

Liam doesn't think when he grabs the apple on the floor and lunges it at Louis. For lying. It hits him in the chest with a deep thump. It must've hurt a lot. His hand goes to his chest with a cough and a curse through gritted teeth.

" _Fuck!!_ "

 _Good._ "That's what you fucking get, asshole." Good that it hurts. Liam soaks in the sight before he gets up, the grains of broken glass falling off his back and on the floor as he gets to his feet. His white shirt is stained red all the way down his back, and he'll think it's blood and panic once he sees. But it's just the syrup. The glass jar only left a few scratches. The ache from the door slammed sets in now like a rolling tide and it makes him nauseous. Looking down at the mess, it feels strange knowing this all really happened.

It might be the same for Louis. He just stays looking down, phone still by his ear as he rubs his chest with his other hand. The dour expression he casts looks fragile now, barely kept together. "...No I'm fine, I'll have to call you later... Yeah..." Louis walks towards the mess. "Yeah. Bye." And he hangs up, phone on the counter.

"Why did you do that to me?" Liam asks him genuinely, heart heavy in his chest. This won't go anywhere and he should remember by now. "You fucking prick, that hurt!"

Louis won't look at him. The floor is all he's paying attention to. Then the refrigerator. He goes to that first and opens it to see what mess might be inside and what's broken there. Not Liam.

"You just don't give a shit, do you?" Liam has no business being shocked, or hurting for what feels like the hundredth time. The context is all too familiar. He'd naive to act like he doesn't know where this is coming from. Nothing new. He shouldn't be walking over to Louis with his breath this heavy and his jaw so clenched. This is his impulse whirling. Loathing towers over him and casts a shadow over every perception. Less than a feet apart from each other now. "Huh?"

Louis rubs his hand over his face.

"You fucking clean it." Liam says it with a shove to Louis's chest again. A last one. This time Louis stumbles backwards quietly, letting the refrigerator door swing wide open again as Liam walks away. He stays there breathing in the middle of the kitchen until he's alone and the footsteps fade. He doesn't get to hear Liam say,

_"I hope he doesn't step on glass."_

Because Liam strangled that concern before it made it to the surface. This isn't the time to be genuine.

In ancient Greece the way to propose to your lover was by throwing them an apple, and if they caught it that meant a matrimony to-be. There's a nice little mythology that birthed the practice, although Liam can't remember. But he always said to himself that that was the way he would propose to Louis; the throw of an apple. Louis was always throwing things at him for pranks. The parallel was a clever one. And Liam thought, maybe he'll get the apple from Tesco and leave the label on to make Louis laugh, to make it all stupid. He can only be a gentle romantic for so long before he cracks a joke and downplays the sappiness. It was all jokes and happy days with them. Liam's never had a relationship like that with anyone. It was a different world. Life felt different for him and he wanted Louis to know. The two of them together— for that to embody itself in the most thoughtful analogy Liam could orchestrate. Because he rarely plans things. When he does, they're always flawed. Such as, Louis isn't good at all at catching things. Liam has a good enough arm, though. Getting Louis to take baseball lessons was the option he'd considered just to be safe. Because a fallen apple would be the bad omen to would sentence their marriage to a separation. And that was terrifying to Liam.

It used to be.

(It still is.)

The irony of this afternoon's apple lunged at Louis in hate isn't as funny as expected. It's another misfortune in a pack growing crowded. Too many incidents for too long of time. Liam needs to stop getting emotional about it; to be hopeful or hateful is as fruitless as what's left of their relationship right now. All it leads to is more reminders, reality checks, disappointments— a burn from a wildfire's flame. And that's ironic, too. Standing in the apocalyptic hellfire that is living with your ex while a storm crashes water around the house.

And there's the lesson: Check the weather before you break up with your boyfriend, so you have the chance to leave before a surprise storm forces you to stay inside together.

 

 _"There is no single moment of loss. There is an amassing."_  
_—Stacey Cassarino_

People always make promises to themselves after an argument. In the impulse of Liam's first-stage rage his promise was that it would be three months spent without talking to Louis. That was punishment. Some ninety days— one for every pound of that £90 fine he had to pay for possession of _Louis's_ marijuana that a traffic cop found in his car. Liam didn't know how to translate the birth of a criminal record into days spent grudging, though. But all that deliberation was before he and Louis got into an argument two days after the cop issued him his ticket. The day a bruise turned into a gutting in the span of a red light turned green, and the love between them flatlined. Now the silence is indefinite. Liam never felt loss like that. Unfair like a slipped grip, fatal like a bullet to the chest.

Liam and Louis had their problems before; a leak in the ceiling. It was petty conflict they weren't good at dealing with. They argued fruitlessly until one of them left the room; strangers to each other for a while until an exchange of words broke the spell and they were together again without an apology. And those moments never outshined the flame of both their lives shared as one. They were strong together, built on the foundations of humor, infatuation and banter. Liam and Louis— complementary opposites that exchanged pieces of each other in juvenility like kids trading baseball cards by a bicycle pile. Liam was tall, husky, hairy and goofy; Louis was short, lithe, sparse-haired from the neck down and rascally. Liam liked boxing, Louis liked soccer. Liam had brown eyes, Louis had blue. Liam's tattoos were fused in a sleeve, Louis's were stamped in traditional. Liam more compliant, Louis more defiant. They were such a trope; Lethal Weapon, Tommy Boy, Stir Crazy. There was wonder to that. They were obsessed with each other. Adventure and liveliness and a sort of innocence akin to blindness, to immaturity.

But to be blind, stupid and a little too dramatic doesn't serve one well. The leaky patch on the ceiling darkened over time and went from drip-drops in a bowl to a hole blown through the roof, to water rising to the knees. Liam did most of the cleaning. Because for being such a tight duo, their dynamic often fell into imbalance. They weren't always fair in the things they took and gave in exchange. There were things they weren't willing to give. The things they kept threw things off and hurt feelings every time.

Liam only sees it now— that they were always living on instability. His brand new criminal record Louis refused to take responsibility for was the tip of the iceberg he didn't realize they'd been see-sawing on for the past six years. Maybe because it wasn't so cold. And he's sorry. Because he thought they were on stable ground. Liam feels like he took something for granted. They'd never argued the way they did that night. Never wanted to hurt each other so bad. A battle of, 'Who's the biggest villain? Who can be the most cruel?'. Liam more than Louis— he's always been the impulsive one, the one who takes things too far. That night he pushed back so hard and so many times that their love fell over and shattered. Pieces so small you'll never find them all; to break what can never mend again. Because while Liam is a loose cannon, Louis is a bottomless pit. Everything Liam throws without meaning to, Louis keeps forever and refuses to give back. He'll never let you take back what you say. Catch and receive— a devastating harmony.

They haven't spoken in three weeks. Insults don't count. Louis remains dedicated to his withdrawal from Liam, and in a lie Liam's honoring it right back. Every neglect given he returns and it just hurts now. A silent _'I don't care, either. Fuck you, too.'_ Intimacy, speech and touch denied at a front gate, day after day, every single day. Liam avoids every room Louis is in and Louis won't even look him in the eyes. It doesn't feel right. But saying sorry at this point is like running with a bucket of water to save a burning forest. And Liam doesn't want to believe his own fiction. In the habit he's loving Louis less and his lungs are turning black from smoke. The passion is dying. Longing is numbing into apathetic coexisting; strangers with no spell to snap them into loving again. But the worst is what's beginning to make home in the growing vacancy: loathing. Because Louis won't stop fucking with him. Putting away his things when he's still using them, hiding his phone, locking him in rooms. Because he's spiteful that way. He's trying to make living with him as unbearable as he can to punish him. Today was weird. Louis's never actually done something to physically hurt him. It seemed like he didn't mean to. But growing hateful, Liam is snapping back more and more. The roles of catcher and receiver are reversing. It's vertigo. It's maddening.

The only thing that offers sanctuary is denial; avoidance. _This isn't real, we've just hit a rough patch._ And Liam only remembers that hours later when he's calmed down. There's a solution, there's a light at the end of the tunnel he can't see right now. When Liam gets a rare gust of fresh air and he returns to those broken shards, their love, what's left— he remembers. He can get back to trying and missing him. The plan is that once the storm is over and he gets to leave Louis's apartment, he's going to calculate days again; how long is long enough until he comes back ready to patch things up. Come back with gallons of water for the flames and save their paradise— or make a new one together if there's only the ash left. Liam is keeping their history safe from the destruction and that includes his own. But everything else continues to burn, still. Deep down in his heart, he doesn't really believe that Louis will die before ever talking to him again. _Not a chance, get real_ , he comforts himself. Nothing is forever. The storm will pass.

Liam got over the refrigerator incident when he realized that he didn't actually cut his back, and the red on his shirt was just cherry syrup. He'd even gotten the first-aid kit out ready to stitch himself up. _Okay so, Tommo slammed a refrigerator door on me. That's not so bad. I'm alright._ Liam won't hold a grudge. He's gotten over aches and pains worse than this while working out at the gym. And Louis seemed regretful enough afterwards. It's not worth staying angry.

This is his routine again. Get too angry and get over it too quickly. The more Liam hates Louis the more he misses him right after. It's a bizarre process he didn't ever expect to acquire— not when he was googling "unique marriage proposals" and "gay marriage laws yorkshire" last month.

"Ow. Too hot..." Liam hisses as he snaps back his hand from the stream of water coming down the shower head. Scalding; steaming already. He turns the handle a little to the right and sticks his hand out to check the temperature. It goes from scalding to icy. "Nope." He turns the handle just a tiny bit to the right again and lets his fingertips wiggle under the stream. Goes from icy to warm. Not as warm as he'd like, but it'll do. Liam steps out of his underwear and walks into the shower, eager to wash all the cherry syrup off his back.

The water slides right off his gel'd quiff like a solid surface. He forgot he'd washed his hair, straightened it, and styled it to perfection just this morning. Now he'll have to do it all over again. He sighs and digs his fingers into his quiff, letting the hot water run through his scalp until his hair drops dead on his head. Closes his eyes in the stream, head down, sighs. And then sings. It's a more telling unconscious song choice than he realizes.

"I care about you baby, baby  
More than you'll ever know  
More than you'll ever know"

Tries to remember more of the lyrics even if they're wrong, bobbing his head to the melody in his head.

"Please do not drive me crazy, crazy  
Unless you're gonna go  
With me  
No pressuuure"

Liam realizes now the lyrics feel too personal when he sings them. Mostly because he doesn't know the song is actually just about being the girl a guy cheats on his girlfriend with, and being confused and frustrated with the hypocritical nature of the arrangement. Liam never looks up song meanings. He sings lower, worried Louis will hear him and think he's trying to convey a message in an embarrassing way. He goes for the shampoo and squeezes some on his hand, places the bottle back, gets to scrubbing the gel off his hair while he sings softly.

"You are such a liar  
I never denied you"

Mumbling,

"I was for sure  
I was for sure  
I was for sure"

The shampoo's turned into a thick lather on what short hair he's got on his head, the smell of citrus thick in the hot vapor of the shower. Liam dips his head under the stream and scrubs off the shampoo with eyes closed.

"But it's really out of my control  
The way you feel is not my problem  
I don't wanna see you go  
But I don't have the time to solve this  
And you don't have the right  
After all you put me through  
I'm starting to realize"  
Lets himself sing loud and soulful,  
"The pressuuure  
The pressuure"

Falsetto-ing some ad-libs before going back to the song, feeling weird by how much he means it when he sings,

"The pressure  
Just keep it real  
Just keep it real"

He lets his voice go all high so it sounds like Jhene Aiko, and to just show off to no one at all that his range can go there. True R&B style, nice melodies in his throat with an American accent and everything. He can't remember the rest of the song, or if he's even singing the lyrics right. Just keeps repeating the lines he likes out of order, not knowing which one comes first.

"Please do not drive me crazy, crazy  
Unless you're gonna go  
With me  
No pressuuure  
I care about you baby, baby  
More than you'll ever know  
More than you'll ever—"

Suddenly he hears the bathroom door open. Liam shuts up, snaps his head back from under the stream of water and rubs the suds from his face so he can open his eyes.

It's Louis.

'What do you want?' he'd ask. But instead he keeps the shower door closed and watches the blurry outline of Louis's frame through the patterend glass. It's strange; Louis isn't at the sink, or the toilet, or the cabinet. He stays right by the open door, peaking in from out in the hallway. Liam expects him to say something but he doesn't. Their usual tension feels strange when Liam is naked and trapped in a little steamy tile square. But it's even worse once Louis starts walking over. Liam's never been afraid of him before. He doesn't know what he's afraid of. Looking for trouble; got some bad news to say— or maybe good news. Being optimistic is just looking to get his feelings hurt, he remembers. So he goes back to showering mindlessly, rubbing bath gel onto his skin with rugged passes to scrub away his goosebumps.

They just crawl all over his skin again when Louis suddenly opens the shower door. "What?" Liam sounds bored and that's not the case. His heart feels like a lump in his throat, his brow furrowed as he drops his hands down his sides and steps back against the wall. So water doesn't drip off his elbows and get Louis wet. It's depressing when Liam wonders if Louis is still attracted to him. But there isn't anything exposed he hasn't seen before. Sad, sure, but not shy as Louis's eyes scan his body blindly. _This is so weird._ He hates that it is. This is the longest Louis has been this close and so still since before they broke up.

Another memory plagued by a contagious breed of melancholy. This is a different kind of sunshine he's been missing in the storm. It makes his skin warm as scarcely as it can. Louis is just so pretty. No wonder he fell in love with him right away. Sculpted cheekbones, narrow blue eyes that won't meet Liam's gaze, and that scruffy brown hair on his head—and his face. Although there it's a bit ginger. His beard is growing in more. Every day Liam wonders when he's going to find him clean-shaven again. But he wonders a lot of things right now.

Louis came over into the bathroom on his own to just do this, lean against the side of the door and rest his weight there to watch him. Something has to happen. _What you want?_ Because Louis just isn't doing anything. But Liam doesn't want to send him away. Maybe they'll reach a breakthrough. Liam he doesn't want to break Louis's concentration just in case. If he's reasonable, he wants him to go. If he's the delusional ex, he expects Louis to snap out of his curse and wrap his arms around Liam to say he's sorry. Neither come. Liam just keeps looking at the sun.

They used to fuck in the shower all the time. Sometimes in the bathtub of the other bathroom since Liam got a little too excited after finding out the meaning of 'surfboard' in Drunk In Love, and Louis was better in his technique than expected. _"Like it when I'm your little slut, Li? Yeah? Like watching me bounce on your cock?"_ They were always trying new things on Liam's account, mostly from all the porn he watched. Shower sex was one of the best. Without shoes Louis couldn't argue that he was taller than he actually was. Under the warm water and wrapped in the hot steam he was so much calmer and softer, like he was just melting in there while Liam ran his fingers through his hair, down the back of his neck. All that tenderness juxtaposed how it would begin. Sometimes it would happen just like this. Louis wandering inside the bathroom under the guise that he really just wanted to do something else. And they'd joke and tease each other, all the while Liam peeking as Louis stripped behind the foggy opaque glass. He couldn't stop grinning as he watched him come over, his heart racing from none of what he's feeling right now. Because Louis would be there when he slid the shower door open, all cheeky without any clothes. Liam all too keen on showing off, flexing his abs to which Louis would make fun of him for pretending like it was natural. But before Louis would step inside, get wet, and only make it through three minutes of washing before kissing and giggling and fucking, he would always say in the cheesiest way, _"Got—"_

"Got room for one more?"

Liam's eyes soft when he hears Louis murmur it in just that second. So quiet and kept down in his throat he sounds sorry. Louis drops his head down and smiles, rubbing his face with his palm. This is the first time he's talked to him since they broke up. And Liam just smiles back, confused and an idiot all over again to jump to conclusions and be optimistic. Because Louis just looks sad, like he won't let himself break his own law. Like he still hates Liam and he's disappointed he's being weak right now. But they can just be together again, really. Nothing has to stop them. Liam doesn't care. Because he just wants to say he's sorry and forget everything. He doesn't think he's hated himself more for insincerely saying he wanted to break up than he did in this moment. If he knew his words could kill a shining star like Louis right out of their sky, he would've cut off his tongue in that very moment.

Liam quickly reaches his hand out beside him and turns the shower handle until the water stops. And the words are right there, right at the tip of his tongue. _"I'm sorry, Louis. Baby, I'm sorry for what I sai—"_

Louis snaps. He sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth before slamming the shower door shut, leaving it to vibrate as he walks away.

"Louis!" Liam opens it again, sticking his head out the shower as he watches Louis walk away. "Oi!" But Louis turns off the lights and slams the bathroom door shut. And Liam is just angry, letting out a growl as he finds himself in pitch blackness. He's forced to get out the shower and stumble to the switch to turn on the lights. But he can't keep from opening the door and stepping out into the hallway. "You fucking asshole!" he shouts, panting in his rage as he watches Louis idly walk away. "What the fuck is wrong with you?! Huh? What the fuck did I do to you?!" Not that Louis cares to respond. He disappears into his bedroom with his another slammed door. Liam can do that, too. So he does; slams the door shut with a sharp 'bang'.

It was a pointless taunt. 'Haha, got you,' maybe. Probably, though probably not. Liam's on fire again so it doesn't matter. He doesn't know when Louis got to be so cruel and confusing in this. It must be cabin fever settling, blackening what compassion he felt for Liam. Liam just wants to talk to him. But not as much as he wants to hurt him. He hates Louis for giving him a taste of hope when he never means a damn thing by it. "Stop _fucking with me!_ " he screams out loud with a wet fist banged to the door. "Jesus!" Turning off the shower and turning off the lights means Louis just wanted to tease, and Liam didn't deserve that. He doesn't deserve whatever malice Louis sends his way. "Ugh!" he cries out as he drops his head and brings his hands to the back of his neck. His heart banging in his chest, his breathing uneven. He wants to hate Louis forever. It's a plate handed to him with a fork and knife; ready, easy to indulge in.

Liam doesn't know why Louis doesn't just get over it and say he misses him. This can't feel good for him, he can't be that heartless. Reality isn't making sense right now. Liam never imagined it would come to this dark, choking fog moving into their home. He wishes he knew the word for what's becoming of them to each other. When it isn't some incomprehensible, conceptual monstrosity, it feels like a life dangling on a ledge that holds onto him while it grows heavier, losing its will to hold on while he fights to pull it up.

Liam just wants something real. His emotions are exhausted and his mind is playing him. He wants clarity. So he can just decide. If there's something worth fighting for or if he's wasting his time holding on.

 

  
"This weather is such shit..." Liam says to himself as he stares out the window skygazing in hopes the weather improves. He's been wondering about the scope of the storm. Doncaster as a whole must be in ruin. Maybe all of South Yorkshire too. Liam is beginning to miss the sun— the actual one. There's so much fog, and the rain is so dense it blurs everything behind it. All day it sounds like there's a river roaring outside. Three weeks straight of violent, unrelenting rainfall can't be good for the ground. Maybe it'll begin to erode from under them and send the whole building floating away like a boat. But things can't be that bad if a rescue team hasn't come around yet. Despite no signal for wifi, TV, or their phones, they still have electricity, food and running water. But if things don't get better it's impossible for that to be around for long. In a way Liam hopes things will get to that. Maybe escaping from a natural disaster will leave him and Louis with no choice but to join forces and save each others' lives. Enemies to friends all over again, just like when they first met in primary school. That's awfully optimistic of him. He blames that on being a high ranking Boy Scout as a child, and just something of a naive man altogether.

Liam got over the altercation in the shower— their argument. Again. It comes too easy. He's bad at holding grudges. The nice hot shower and the sandwich he ate afterwards brought a peaceful mood to him again. Louis isn't around the living room or the kitchen, so Liam figures he's in their bedroom. His absence helps ease the mood of things. And the tea Liam's making on the stove. Louis never wants any when he asks. Just makes his own in defiance.

The house phone suddenly rings. Liam looks down beside him on the little table with wide eyes. The _phone_ is _ringing_. For the first time. Only Louis's phone ever gets reception.  "Unknown number," Liam reads as he crouches down to take a better look. Regardless, he picks up the phone and answers quickly,

"Hello?"

There's silence for a second, and Liam thinks it's going to be a dead call until he hears a reply. "...Who is this?" It's a woman and she sounds jarringly familiar, as well and genuinely confused.

"It's Liam." And he takes a moment for his own pause. He licks his lips, his fingers tapping on the wood. And then he smiles, a bit optimistic as he asks. "Is that you Johannah?" Louis's mother.

But she hangs up. Or maybe the call was cut off— Liam doesn't know. Either way he tries to call again. Someone needs to know they're stuck here. If it was Louis's mother, even better. He presses the fat down button arrow of the house phone to look through the calls. He presses the green call button over the last number before pressing the phone to his ear and hoping for a ring. 

It's ringing.

"Come on..." He anxiously looks out the window and taps his foot. Four rings; no one picks up. Five, six, seven—

"Hello?"

"Hello!" Liam didn't mean to shout. "Sorry, who is this?" Maybe it isn't Johannah. "It's Liam. Louis's uh... Louis's boyfriend." No answer, so he goes on. "This is his flat you're calling. Can you hear me?"

_Bep bep bep bep bep bep..._

"Shit." The call dropped. Or maybe they hung up because it's a wrong number and they have no idea what Liam's talking about, or they're turned off that they were talking to a gay(though technically bisexual) guy. Liam places the phone back in its stand before looking out the window, eyes narrowed bitterly at the storm. Nearly nighttime now. He sighs in frustration. But it's not all complete misfortune.

That's the first time in three weeks that there's been reception on the house phone. Maybe things are changing outside. Liam pulls his own phone out of his pocket, presses the unlock button and checks to see in the corner if he has any signal. Nothing yet, but he does have a prepaid phone so maybe that doesn't mean anything. A new development has taken place, still. Liam should go tell Louis. Put aside their differences for something important. 

He scans around the living room. No Louis. Walks to the kitchen and looks there. No Louis. Next stop is their bedroom down the hall where he's certain he'll find him. Sure enough, he does. But what Liam sees him doing isn't what he was expecting at all.

Louis is crouched down beside some cardboard boxes tossing things inside. Liam peeks just a little by the door, not wanting him to notice he's there. A squint to focus his vision a little, a single step forward— then he notices. Or realizes, really. And he sighs, his heart sinking in his chest. There isn't anything he can do, and what he could do would be ill-advised. Liam decides not to say anything. Or maybe he just forgets. Brown eyes softening, brow coming together just a bit as he scratches his head in the desperate need to fidget.

It shouldn't make Liam angry to see that Louis is taking all of his things from their bedroom and putting them into cardboard boxes. Presumably they'll be put in the guest bedroom where Liam would be right to assume is where Louis wants him to stay from now on. There's no need. Although, Louis's intention is understandable. They broke up nearly a month ago. The second option would be a much worse one— that tomorrow morning Liam will find cardboard boxes full of all his things by the door. That's just looking for a fight. Liam can't go anywhere in the storm. He lives here, he needs his things.

This feels like the first nail in the coffin. And Liam wants to scream that he isn't dead yet. Not yet, please. Please. _Can't you just try to get along with me? Why do you hate me so fucking much?_ Of course he knows why. He just doesn't want to.

Louis looks up at the door suddenly, looking Liam's way for a while. And Liam should just leave and move away. But he stays. Stays there looking at Louis in hopes it will convey some kind of message. 'I won't give up. I still care,' maybe. Maybe something will finally awaken in Louis. Because he left a slither of hope when he walked into the bathroom and that wasn't in Liam's imagination, not now that he looks back at it all clearly. Liam felt Louis looking at him all nostalgic with some old dusty love, and saw him remember and smile and look sad, and Liam just knows Louis misses him. Somewhere in there. He has to. His grudging can't be permanent forever. There's effort he's putting into it and he has to get tired eventually. It can't be forever.

Louis gets up. Walks towards the door pretty slow.

Liam takes a deep breath and crosses his arms with a shrug as he looks down at the boxes. And when he looks up at Louis

_Bang!_

he's met with a door shut in his face.

"Fuck you, oh my God..."

Hurting like this every day, day after day isn't fair. But there's hardly any choices in this situation when he's just as guilty as Louis is. It's just a decline, an aggravation; increasingly difficult circumstances that Liam will continue to fail to adapt to in silence, and continue to be surprised and hurt that, no, Louis still hates him just like he promised he would. He doesn't want to make up.

This has been such a horrible day. Even for them.

 

  
_"I don't want this, Louis."_

_"Just say me. You don't want me."_

_"...You're right. I should just say it."_

_"Oh now you wanna break up over a ninety quid fine. That's— that's brilliant. If you're really, genuinely thinking about it Liam... If you're seriously gonna sit here and talk about how you're sick of me over—Fucking hell... "_

_"It's not just the fine. It'd be nice if it was. It's never just one thing with you."_

_"You've been thinking about it for a while, have you? Yeah? Is that you're trying to tell me?"_

_"Maybe it is."_

_"So then why didn't you just get it the fuck over with?! You fucking asshole, you fucking liar! What the fuck did you stick around for then?! Huh?! You too much of a fucking pussy to fuck off?!"_

_"It's just always about you, innit? How you're always the fucking victim and you're always right. You're a selfish piece of shit. That's all you've ever been."_

_"Right, Liam, that's all I've ever been. That's why you stuck around for six years, yeah? Why the fuck did you stick around then, you fucking idiot?!"_

_"I don't know either, to be honest. Because you're just... You're just an awful fucking person. And I don't know how I've put up with your shit this whole time."_

_"'You make me so happy, Louis. I've never been happier then when I'm with you, my life is fucking complete—' So what was that? Huh? What the fuck was that?"_

_"People say stupid things sometimes, I suppose. Are you surprised?"_

_"...I could kick your f-fucking teeth in for lying to me. I could beat the shit o-out of you."_

_"Yeah it's fucking **me** , right?! Yeah, I'm— I'm tired because I just feel like it. I'm being picky in bloody fucking paradise! Because **you're** perfect and **I'm** not. So I'm just wrong, I'm an absolute fucking idiot. I'm making all of this up. Completely. Right."_

_"You never loved me."_

_"Maybe I didn't! Who gives a shit now?! You don't! Don't fucking act like you give a shit about me now! All you've ever done is treat me like absolute shit! You treat me like a fucking joke, you make me feel stupid all the fucking time. Always talking down on me like you're better than me. You gonna try and tell me none of that's true? You don't make fun of me? You don't make me feel stupid? You never act like you're better than me?"_

_"Am I a fucking mind reader?! How the fuck am I supposed to know how you feel if you don't tell me anything!"_

_"Don't act fucking stupid. You're so clever, you're so goddamn smart, yeah? But not now, yeah? Suddenly you just don't know. Poor little Tommo, just can't understand his dimwitted boyfriend. Jesus, I just can't fucking **stand** you! With you I'm always wrong, you're right. I'm the piece of shit. You don't care about me. Well congrats, mate, I don't give a fuck about you either. I don't."_

_"Nice. That's terrific, Liam. Have you quite finished?"_

_"You're a child. You're a fucking child. Living with you is like being stuck with a child who can't do shit for themselves. You're just incapable of doing anything right, you can't do anything you're not fucking good at shit. Your sad little life's not going anywhere and all you wanna do is keep me around like a ball on your chain. That's all it is. Go ahead, **please** , Louis, beat the shit out of me. Do kick my teeth in. Like you fucking would anyway, you pussy."_

_"I fucking would. I fucking would. I fucking hate you. I hate you so fucking much. You're a fucking lowlife you're a fucking scumbag."_

_"Fucking, fucking, fucking..."_

_"You never gave a shit about me. You were just waiting the stupidest fucking excuse to break up with me. Made me waste all this fucking time... All this time being a fucking liar. Acting like... like I'm just the worst person ever and I'm just so fucking evil and I treat you like such shit every fucking day and I don't care about you. When you just wanna fuck off and shag someone else."_

_"Now I'm cheating on you! I can't fucking believe you! Keep looking for any excuse. Anything to put the blame on me. This is all your fucking fault, mate. It's all on you this time. I'm sorry. I hate to break it to y—"_

_"You're packing up all your shit and you're getting the fuck out of my flat. You're getting the fuck out tonight."_

_"Oh so you're kicking me out. That's lovely."_

_"..."_

_"So that's it? It's over, just like that."_

_"Don't fucking talk to me."_

_"Oh for fuck's sake! You just... This is so fucking stupid! This is such fucking shit!"_

_"Fucking, fucking, fucking..."_

_"God, if you'd just **listened** to me! If you'd just tried to fucking work things out and weren't such a ... brick fucking wall it wouldn't have had to fucking come to this! If you weren't so goddamn stubborn and just admitted that you could ever possibly be at fault for anything at all, this wouldn't be fucking happening! You know?!"_

_"I'm this close to bashing your fucking head into the steering wheel, I swear to God. If you don't shut the fuck up..."_

_"Louis... I love you, alright?"_

_"Oh **fuck you! Shut the fuck up!!** "_

_"What?!"_

_"How did you think this was gonna play out in your fucking head, you manipulative little shit?! That I say, 'I love you too. I don't wanna lose you, darling. I'll change, I promise." Yeah?! Is that what you expected?! That I play along to your little plan?!"_

_"There's no fucking plan! There's no fucking **plan**! Jesus Christ... What, you're mad I still care? Don't be so fucking stubborn."_

_"Just shut up."_

_"You just wanna throw it all away, just like that? Six years gone like... like it's nothing."_

_"_ _Fuck you, alright? Go fuck yourself. I don't... I don't actually think I've hated someone as much as I hate you right now. I don't think I've actually ever met someone that low."_

_"Oh, that's lovely."_

_"You cynical fucking bastard. When you've got something to say you say it to my face. When you're fucking sick of me, you say it to my face. You say it right when you mean it. Not nag at me like bitch and fuck off without telling me anything just so you can throw it in my face later. You know, maybe then I'd know there was a problem. Maybe then I'd have had the chance to see that I was wrong. But you can go **fuck** yourself now because I don't give a shit anymore. You can fucking rot I don't give a shit about you. We're fucking over. And don't even think of coming back. Because when I'm done, I'm done for good. I'm done forever."_

Liam wanted to stop the car and jump out and vomit and hopefully get hit by a car. But it was raining. And he didn't want to get wet. It felt like being locked in a room filling with smoke from a fire burning outside the door. Louis was in flames, and Liam threw the match. Wildfire that spread relentlessly and turned their blooming paradise to ash. Maybe if Liam had apologized before they got home, before the car's engine turned off, before they got out— maybe he could have killed it then, while it was still contained.

 _'Oh God, I'm so sorry. Louis, baby, I'm so sorry. Please, please forgive me. I didn't mean what I said. I was just mad. I was just so mad I— I'm so fucking sorry. You're all I care about you're all I care about. I don't know why I said those horrible things I'm such a horrible person. I didn't really want to break up, love. Louis, please, I'm so sorry. Please, I'll do anything. Please don't leave me. I can't live without you I just can't._ '

But the horizon is in flames now. There's no saving.

Liam went in Louis's apartment where they stay together, but Louis didn't come home for three days. On the very first night Liam stuffed a backpack with fumbling fingers and went to the door to leave. But when he opened the door he saw that a storm had flooded the ground halfway up the stairs. And someone had stolen his car. Their breakup already had his mind in a tight unease and his stomach in knots, so it was easy for panic to make a home in him— because he didn't know where Louis was. He had gone without a car and with a three-foot deep flood running through the road. There was no phone reception, no signal on the TV, and no way to get out of the apartment. Liam thought those three nights were the worst of his life; hope draining with every tear that streamed from his eyes until was so empty, so gone, that he got to believing Louis died. Died in a freak storm just after they had broken up. That was so much to be left with all by himself. But the worst was the night Louis came home. Right then Liam was crying again, his breath trembling as he ran to the front door to hold the love of his life. But it was a tragedy anyway. Because Louis rejected him. Didn't look at him, didn't talk to him. He didn't get over their argument in the car like Liam thought he would. Louis meant what he said. When he's done he's done for good. He's done forever. He can really hold a grudge.

Liam's looked over their cons to find comfort in their permanent goodbye; to make tragedy into good riddance, into salvation. But he doesn't want it. He doesn't care. Every day breathing feels nauseating like he's choking from the emptiness and the loss. Because he loves Louis. And he fucked up so bad. He doesn't think he's ever ruined things this bad in his life. He's never regretted anything more. And he misses Louis more than anything, and he wants him back.

Longing is a strange feeling when they're both still sharing the same bed every night. Granted they both keep to opposite sides of the mattress.

Some time after Louis shut the door in his face, Liam walked into the kitchen and found that Louis turned off his tea kettle, threw the tea away, and put the pot back in the cabinet. Strike 3. Liam clocked in for the day and went to bed at 10:12pm. The boxes in their bedroom were barely full, and Liam could see that a lot of his things were still lying around. The nail isn't in the coffin yet. But hammer is right there on the table. Liam set the phone on his nightstand and tucked himself into bed. And this isn't so odd for him to do— going to sleep early. Liam always tucks himself in first for the sake of being unconscious by the time Louis gets into bed. They're both dedicated to ownership of that bed. Liam doesn't know why Louis would be, but for him it's because he doesn't want to abandon that big piece of their intimacy. He still wants it. For all his subliminal messages, he wonders if Louis cares to analyze them.

Tonight Louis went to bed before Liam fell asleep. Liam had to shut his eyes and stay still while Louis shifted under the covers. He popped open one eye and saw that Louis had his back turned to him, of course. And Louis said, "You're so stupid." Just very softly. "You make everything worse. You just keep... caring. Just get over it. You're so annoying." Liam thought he wasn't talking to him. Until he said, "Ol' Payno... Idiot." But by then Louis had fallen asleep. That was his goodnight. Liam wonders how long Louis had been holding that in. It didn't hurt his feelings as much as he thought it would. It didn't really at all, actually. It must have been the half-affectionate 'Ol' Payno' whispered in a fragile breath.

Louis stayed still for the rest of the night just like that. He never did have much of a problem falling asleep. Liam stays looking at him. _Such a nice little neck_ , he thinks, since that's all he has to see. Broad-enough to show he's sporty, small enough that it makes Liam want to pepper kisses all over it. He imagines himself doing that for a while. That he spoons Louis and wraps his arm around him, kisses his neck, and Louis chuckles and cuddles back, leaning into Liam's kisses until he's turning over and they're kissing all deep and slow and warm in love.

But he's snapped out of it when he hears an ambulance. The ambulance— the one he's rarely awake to hear. It must come every night around the same time. It always sounds close, but realistically it has to be far away because the road is too flooded for any car to pass. And because whenever Liam turns to look out the window there's just nothing there. No lights, no nothing. It's spooky when he's alone; a siren and the angry rush of water merged with it. But Louis is beside him and the siren doesn't sound as ominous as it implies. Still creepy, though. So he sighs and closes his eyes. He tries to fall asleep but his mind is working away being a pest. Everything is confusing when his opinion changes based on his emotions. But Liam finds that in bed, just before going to sleep, everything always seems clear.

Still misses Louis. Still suspects Louis misses him too. Things are changing— the storm, Louis. Maybe they're finally close to a breakthrough. For better or for worse.


	2. Bridge To Terabithia At 4:55pm

_"She called pest control_  
_And when she was sprayed_  
_She never was bothered again!_

_"She wore western style boots, foreshadowing things to come. I said, 'I'm an artist in search of a medium.' She said, 'I know.' And I said, 'Well, I gotta go,' looking back over my shoulder to see if she was sorry I was leaving. Because I thought I was lying. But I was going, I was going, I was gone._

_"She called pest control_  
_And when she was sprayed_  
_She never was bothered again!"_

She Called Pest Control by Daniel Johnston ends. It's only a fifty-three second long song— if you can call it a song. His whole album Hi, How Are You is full of weird music that Liam finds himself surprisingly moved by. She Called Pest Control touched a little too deep and he won't admit it.

Daniel Johnston is a bipolar schizophrenic who was popular in the 90's for recording sad songs on his karaoke machine, making them into mixtapes, and dropping them into peoples' bags at his job in McDonald's. There's a raw, heartbroken, and sentimental warmth in his songs that Louis just loved. Mostly because Daniel Johnston is a terrible singer with a high voice and Louis jokingly likened himself to him. Mr. Johnston always wrote songs about unrequited love, no doubt from pretty girls turned off by his goofy face and tubby little body. He has such a remarkable soul. At least according to Louis. He was more his thing. These are all Louis's things—

His CD collection.

It's a big black album with four little pockets on each page for you to slide CD's into. _"Old school, Payno! That's the way it's gotta be!"_ These are the CD's of Louis's school days, including the many mixtapes Liam made for him. Louis is taking a shower so Liam takes advantage of that and snoops through his things to get his daily fix of memories past. Not in a sentimental way, he tells himself. Not anymore. He just likes to snoop. And since Louis won't let him look through his things, he has to creep around in secret. Playing music on a radio isn't the most convenient thing to be secretive about, but Liam keeps the volume low enough for the music the stay in the room.

 _"'This is the pig!_  
_Oink, oink, oink, oink oink!_  
_Do you hear the frog?'"_

A little animal sounds toy plays before it's cut off and Daniel begins to sing the next song Liam skipped to. Walking the Cow.

_"Hi, how are you?"_

If you can call it singing. He sounds like a child. He plays some kind of toy piano.

 _"Trying to remember_  
_But my feelings can't know for sure"_

Liam ducks his head under Louis's bed and reaches his hand for another one of his personal possessions, not knowing exactly what he'll grab a hold of. It's a surprise. His hand strains and taps around at the dusty floor before it successfully pinches at something hard, small and square. And flat.

_"Tried to reach out "_

It's a framed picture. Louis and him and pose, snuggled and smiling bright on some Paris night. _"It looks like one of those— what do you call it... those like, image stock photos! Of those couples posing all smiling and having a good time. But I like it! I love this. This is my favorite picture of us ever. I'm framing it when we get home."_ Liam bought the frame. Louis set it up by the bed, next to the lamp and the clock. So that every day he could wake up to his favorite thing in the world.

_"But it's gone"_

Liam presses his thumbs into the glass until it cracks.

_"Lucky stars in your eyes"_

Daniel Johnston sings on, tapping away at his toy piano as Liam looks down at the now shattered memory of him and Louis. It's so symbolic in an overdressed way, a melodramatic way. But Liam didn't expect to cut his thumbs and he hisses, dropping the frame and carelessly sliding it back under the bed with no concern over the blood he left behind. Maybe he was better off without the sentiment. 

_"I really don't know how I came here_  
_I really don't know why I'm staying here_  
_Oh oh oh..._  
_I am walking the cow"_

Liam doesn't care. About anything. He only broke the photo because he figured that would be a cool thing to do. But bloody-thumbed he realizes it wasn't necessary. And that's fine. He uncrosses his legs on the floor and stands up. He sticks both thumbs in his mouth and sucks at them until it stops hurting. It's the only thing that hurts.

 _"I really don't know what I have to hear_  
_I really don't know what I have to care"_

Daniel Johnston said it. Not him.

_"I am walking the cow"_

That could mean something if Liam wanted him to. But the truth is he isn't interested. And he can't hear the water running down the hall anymore. Louis is out of the shower, so he'd better leave. He bends down to pick up Louis's CD collection in his arm, pushes the eject button, pulls out the Daniel Johnston's CD and slides back into the album before zipping up, closing up, and sliding the album back under the bed.

"Ow," he frowns, placing his wounded thumbs back in his mouth as he heads out the bedroom.

Out in the hall he passes by Louis, who he doesn't give a passing glance to, and who doesn't give a passing glance at him. Quietly, he hopes Louis will find the broken, bloody framed picture of them under his bed. But he tells himself no, tells himself to stop. That would be too much effort, too much whipping given to a horse that will never run again . A thing of no value. A once-was that was nice while it lasted and will never be again.

 

 _"Somewhere bodies are being carved open, so that I can be alone with my blood. My thoughts are wounds in my brain. My brain is a wound. I want to be a machine. Arms to grasp legs to walk no pain no thoughts."_  
_—Heiner Mueller_

 

  
There's enough bars on Liam's phone to make phone calls. At first he thought that maybe the storm really was getting better. At first being nine days ago. Better doesn't mean good. The storm rages on most certainly. When the calls aren't dropping there's only static when someone picks up. But his phone is an android from the Tesco Phone Shop, so quality could just be to blame. Louis has been making phone calls just fine. Regardless, Liam's gone through his entire contacts list more times than he can count. Though that's not saying much considering he hasn't enough friends to make the list of any such impressive size. It's nearing the end of the month, which means Liam's phone will run out of service soon. So his evenings are now dedicated to trying to get through to the world before it's gone from his reach. That and clicking through TV channels to see which ones they now have signal for, since that came back—and will expire at the end of the month— too. But he does that all day, not just in the evenings.

_"So when the babies come home are you gonna take off work?"_

_"Yeah I'm gonna take as much time as I can."_

_"Yeah. And I know if my mom has time she's gonna take off too. Which would be good. Especially if I have to get a c-section. you know? I'm not gonna be able to... get up a lot and do everything for them, so..."_

_"It would be hard the first couple of months."_

_"Yeah. But, do you think with the job not that you're gonna be able to... make enough money for us to move out?"_

_"I don't know. I mean... if you have a job, then yeah."_

_"Well... obviously I'm not gonna be able to get a job right off the bat. I don't wanna have to... leave them with daycare or whatever right off the bat. Cos they're gonna need their mom. You know what I mean?"_

_"Yeah but... that just means it's like, a longer process of us moving out."_

_"I know but... I don't really know what to say to you."_

There's only two channels working one day a time, and they change every day. Yesterday it was Sky 1 and Disney Channel, and the day before it was ITV and Sky Sports. Today it's Film4 and MTV. Everything else is static. Curiously enough, the TV also cuts to static during commercial breaks. So Liam's missing out on new products, openings, and sales. But that's probably a good thing— not knowing what he's missing out on. BBC is always a 24 hour static broadcast. He's desperate to catch up on news of this storm, or really news of any kind. But he can just add that to the heap of things he can't change.

Liam's bored— which is good. Things have taken a turn in his own subconscious and he's made peace with a lot of things— the break-up, the storm. A white flag that started with Louis giving up on packing away Liam's things in boxes. That doesn't mean reconciliation. If anything it means that they're finally dead to each other. And Liam hangs up a plaque of accomplishment inside himself for such rare wisdom on his part. Because this is dealing with his break-up like an adult. This is escaping from the forest fire and watching it burn from a place where the smoke doesn't blow. They've finally found a balance; a perfect reflection of their invisibility to one another. The irony. 

_"Well it kind of really pisses me off. I guess I just wanna be out of here fast cos I want to.... I don't want to raise my kids around your parents. I wanna raise my kids on my own."_

_"I know."_

_"And... I'm not comfortable here. And... I don't even wanna be here right now but I am."_

It's been nearly a month already. They broke up on July 3rd, and August is only two days away. With cabin fever pacified all Liam has to deal with is finding ways of entertaining himself while he waits for a way out to present itself. This isn't the way he imagined their war would end. Not with a victory, but a quiet surrender from both parties. And that bothers him. So then, maybe the smoke does blow his way. Maybe he's still coughing and waving away debris. But that's what the TV is for— an open window that lets a gush of fresh air clear his emotional congestion. But that's only when he isn't forced to watch terrible shows.

_"Okay, I'm sorry I can't make money... Sorry I have to stay home all day and take care of them...! If you wanna quit your job and take care of them and let me go to work fine. And then I can tell you, 'Oh I make the money you can't do this you can't do that.' That's not how a relationship works! Sure, you make the money but it's both of our money! And I don't appreciate you throwing that in my face all the time! That I don't make money, that I can't. I'm not in a position where I can go out and work right now! I'm not in a position where I can do anything! That's why it's kind of annoying because you can go and do these things for yourself but I can't do anything! I've given up everything! and I can't do anything!"_

Soft, sad rock begins to play before the shot cuts to the title 16 and Pregnant. Season 5, episode 6: Karley. Cut to commercial, and the TV is all static. They've been playing a marathon for the past two hours.

Before that it was music videos from 9am to 12:30pm; The Official UK Top 40 and then Video Love. Liam's never cared to watch music videos back to back as a form of entertainment and he never got the appeal. So halfway through The Official UK Top 40 he switched to Film4 and watched Diary of a Wimpy Kid and Diary of a Wimpy Kid: Rodrick Rules back to back. Film4 is a channel that plays only movies, so Liam lucked out on getting stuck with that one today. He lucked out even more with Diary of a Wimpy Kid, since he was a big fan of the book series when he was in grade school himself. But once both movies finished his luck ran out. Right now Liam's desperately waiting for Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea—some terrible 1960's scifi movie about people in a submarine trying to save Earth— to finish to he can watch Bridge to Terabithia at 4:55pm. It's 4:40pm. So since 2:55pm he's been cursed with 16 and Pregnant.

Maybe he didn't luck out after all; this window doesn't open all the way. He's stuck watching pregnant underaged American girls get mistreated by their selfish boyfriends as they try and come to terms with the fact that they're kids with kids growing in their bellies. This one in particular is named Karley, and she's now already had a C-section for twins. The teen dad is her husband Tony, a man-child bad boy who wants to buy a $1,000 truck all for himself. They both live together in teen mom Karley's parents' house, which man-child bad boy Tony doesn't like. Now they're arguing because he bought the truck.

_"It's because it's annoying to realize that you don't even care. It's really frustrating to realize that you disrespected the person that takes care of your children! Who had to give up everything for these children! You don't even care!"_

_"So what can you depend on me for? Nothing? Then why the fuck am I still here? Why the fuck am I still working? Why are we still married? Tell me! Why am I still here?! If— If I'm not gonna care then why am I still here?"_

"Ha..." Liam snorts when he finds himself relating to the sentiment. He didn't think he could.

_"I don't know why you don't care about me honestly."_

_"Right. I don't give a shit. End of story."_

"Fuck."

_"It's not fair to me, Tony!"_

_"I'm fucking leaving. Here, take Amiriah."_

He doesn't know which one's him and which one's Louis. If they're so dead to each other then a comparison of any kind is out of the question. But maybe Liam is being delusional. He'd like to think he's teen mom but teen dad is the impulsive one who does a bad job of convincing his partner that he cares, because he's such an _idiot_. But Liam's not a bad boy, he's not the bad guy. Louis isn't either. He just plays video games and uses his laptop in their bedroom all day long when he isn't smoking weed or talking on the phone. Sometimes he comes out to peek at what Liam's doing and maybe it's because he cares. But since Liam doesn't pay him any attention he scurries away. Maybe it's because he's _complicated_ and _conflicted_. But that's just Liam fantasizing, still.

Because he cares, still.

"I don't..."

Annoying how 16 and Pregnant brought it out. Being self-aware is a burden. He denied it when he broke their framed picture out of heartbreak. And he wasn't thinking like this when he was watching Diary of a Wimpy kid. But Liam can't deny it now.

He hasn't _actually_ achieved a state of peaceful indifference, despite what he would like to believe. For example, right now he's eating Louis's crisps with the intention of eating them all so he doesn't have any left. Softcore spite is turning into his trademark. Louis isn't dead to him yet. He's not that far from the flames.

Teen mom's mom Cindy argues with Tony.

_"I don't wanna have this conversation!"_

_"Well this way it kind of gives us an idea of what's—"_

_"I'm not gonna make you pay rent."_

_"Well if it's a big deal then—"_

_"No, it's not a big deal. It's just that a little bit of gratit— a little bit of gratefulness."_

_"Do I not show appreciation?"_

"Do I nowt show apweciation?" Liam mocks with food in his mouth and decides to rip away his attention from the TV. He wipes the oily potato crisp crumbs on his fingers with his shirt before reaching for his phone beside him. It's a prepaid Samsung LG, very small. Louis didn't care to be merciful when he teased him about it. But Liam was gracious in his ricochet. _"I shall have you know I only paid 75 quid for this phone. And I pay just 15 a month. So who's laughing now?"_ And Louis nodded reluctantly. _"Okay well you have got a point there, Liam."_ It would've been an even better rebound if he'd told him why he sacrificed the luxury of his iPhone for Tesco Mobile. But he decided to hold out just a _little_ longer for the surprise. "Just a _liiiittle_ longer..." Liam mocks his brilliant logic from last month. Before the fight, before the ticket for the weed. Now it doesn't matter if Louis knows.

Liam goes to his call log where he scrolls by all his missed calls made to everyone in his contacts list who wasn't a restaurant or repair shop.

 _TODAY_  
**Nialler  (22)**  
_July 29 3:12PM_

 **Ruth  (20)**  
_July 29 3:09PM_  
  
**Mum  (26)**  
_July 29 3:07PM_

 **Dad  (17)**  
_July 29 3:06PM_

 **Nickie  (13)**  
_July 29 3:03PM_

No one's ever answered once, and no one's given him a call back. Disappointment never stops coming as an ache in his stomach— in just two days there's no chance of him making a call to anyone at all anymore. That's terrifying. Some days he's wished he'd never gotten signal on his phone and set himself up for this every-evening ordeal, this every-evening taunt.  But some days he only regrets getting Tesco Mobile. Liam scrolls to the very bottom of the list, and then to the very top again. Last missed call made to Niall today at 3:12pm. That's about an hour ago. He knows for a fact Niall lives closest by. He's been taking care of his sick grandmother who lives in Sheffield, while Liam's family live all the way in Wolverhampton nearly two hours away. If Liam were to reach Niall the outlook would be the prettiest one, next to actually calling 999 and requesting a helicopter. Because even if Niall doesn't come to the rescue,  a good chat would bring Liam a splash of sound mind; contact with the real world to make him feel real again. Even if it's the last one.

He decides to call again, even though he'd told himself that a grand total of ninety S.O.S. calls was enough for the day. Because he needs more mind-numbing repetitive activities. Maybe he'll make twenty more calls. Liam adjusts himself on the couch until he's sitting straight and resting his elbows on his thighs as he presses the tiny green phone button next to Niall's name. The unflattering photo that is his contact photo takes up the whole screen as it rings, and Liam gives a chuckle before bringing his phone to his ear.

_Rrring.... rrring..... rrring.... rrring....._

"Come on."

_Rrring.... rrring.... ri— Bep bep bep bep bep..._

"Ugh." Liam brings his phone down and sighs as he hangs up. He stays looking down at the screen for a while, and then at the clock up in his notification bar. 4:49pm. He might not have enough time for a conversation before Bridge to Terabithia starts. But he calls again.

_Rrring.... rrring.... rrring.... rrring...._

He reaches his left hand into the bag of Kettle Chips to pinch at some leftover crumbs and drop them into his mouth. It's a concentrated taste down there. His dark brown eyes look to the TV screen while the phone rings on.

_"I go to work every fucking day!! I fucking work my ass off and then I come home and get told I don't know what's coming towards me?!"_

_"I didn't say it like that!"_

_"Shut the fuck up!!"_

Liam promptly turns the volume down.

_Rrring.... rrring.... rrring.... rrring...._

It's more rings gotten through than last time. Liam feels like he's watching a football game, brow tense and heart racing as he prays for the ball to hit the net.

"Come on, come on, come on—"

"Hello?"

"Niall!" Liam's eyes go wide as he grins. That's his voice. That's _Niall's_ voice. _Oh God please don't cut off. Please, please, please._ He lets his weight fall back on the couch as he shuts his eyes and laughs, raising a shaking fist victoriously. " _Yess!!_ Oh God, finally!" Liam opens his eyes, looking up to the ceiling as he waits for Niall to reply. But he can't wait. He rambles with a grin on his face as he flies around in his high. "Bro, I've been trying to reach you for _weeks_! Literally _weeks_. There's this like, crazy storm here. It's insane. I haven't had reception at all this whole time. Like, this is literally a miracle, that I'm talking to you right now." And then he fears, very suddenly, a very real fear. "Are you there? Mate?"

"L—m?"

"Niall? Can you hear me? ...Niall?"

There's static, interference. Niall's voice sounds like it's fallen through a strainer and perched at a distance. This is so stressful. Liam doesn't want the call to drop. But then it comes. "I-I c— hear you... I can hear you." Liam smiles again as he hears Niall's voice. "Liam?"

"Yeah! Yeah, I can hear you," he laughs, rubbing his face with his other hand— the one he ate the crisps with. He unknowingly rubs grease all over his eyelids. Liam doesn't know if Niall heard him the first time, so he repeats himself again. "Bro, I've been— I've been trying to get you on my cell but it never goes through. This is literally the first time I've gotten through to anyone in like, a month. You gotten any missed called from me?"

It takes him a while to answer. "No."

"It's almost August. My phone's gonna run out of service pretty soon so I've just been obsessively calling literally every single person in my contacts list. Cos I've just been stuck here for almost a month." And Liam rolls his eyes at himself. "But I've already said that. Obviously. Yeah."

"Where are you, Liam?"

Liam hopes his break up with Louis doesn't come up. He doesn't know if he's ready to talk about that on the phone with anyone. "I'm at Louis's place." Where he lives in perfect harmony with his loving boyfriend of six years, of course. "This in- _sane_ storm caught us by surprise and flooded the roads and everything outside so we just can't go anywhere. What have they been saying about it on the news?"

"No we don't uh... I haven't— I haven't hear anything about a storm."

"Are you serious.... Would you check online for me, then?  Because I've got no idea what the fuck is going on. Or how long this is gonna go on for. I don't wanna call the cops, like... I don't know..." Talking about his situation for the first time casts a tall and ominous shadow over him, darkening his silhouette with gloom. He was so happy about talking to someone for the first time in a month; having a fun chat with Niall as if nothing happened. But something most definitely is happening. 

Liam has been missing for a month, technically. Actually. Another shot of self-awareness he could have done without.

Niall sounds so confused. How could he not know about the storm? Where do people think he is? "Mate, would you tell my folks that I'm staying with Louis and that I'm alright? They're probably worried about where I am." Niall doesn't say anything, and Liam feels tense waiting for a reply. "Bro... Are you th—"

_Bep bep bep bep bep bep bep..._

"No!" he whines as he pulls his phone down and looks at the screen. He desperately presses the green call button again, eyes to the ground as he waits for a reply.

_Bep bep bep bep bep bep bep..._

It doesn't even ring. There's a lump in his throat and a concavity in his chest both growing at the same time. This feels new. Definitely.

_"I hate this, Karley! **I hate this!! I hate this I don't wanna do it anymore!! He won't listen!!!** "_

Soft folk music begins to play on the TV, a hipster man singing dramatically in a quiet voice,

 _"~And i tried every day to be the best that I can._  
_Until the day you came along_  
_And then I spent some time worrying who I am_  
_And if I could be good enough~"_

Liam has a life outside of this. He has a family that's probably worried sick about him and uni classes he's most likely failing just before graduation. How absurd to really forget about that. To cement. To tend to conflict with stagnancy, to so easily accept his situation as indefinite. How stupid he feels— such a naive course of action. To really believe he could afford to live cut off from his life for however long he needed to. That's nothing to be proud about— there's been no perspective on his part. Just Louis, just dealing with him. Liam suddenly has so many thoughts he feels like a crockpot ready to blow, a stomach unsuited for high capacity. He's embarrassed and angry and overwhelmed that he's been wrong this whole time, and what progress he thought he'd made was no more clever than sticking two fingers in his ears.

_"Don't go away! This episode of 16 and Pregnant continues right now!"_

Now he misses his mother, his dogs, his friends, his car— awful. What Liam would give to be in the dark again. Should he finally dial 999 and call for help? Should he try to call Niall again? Should he tell Louis he needs to take their situation seriously and execute an evacuation? He ponders, slumped in the couch for a while. It's no fun. Difficult; it feels like it's no good. His face feels hot and sweaty, and his stomach feels like it's trying to crawl its way up to his chest. 

The TV has switched to static for a commercial break. Liam reaches his hand in the Kettle Chips bag to try and pinch at crumbs, only to find that there's just oily dust and seasoning at the bottom. And he doesn't want any of that. At least he's accomplished something: all of Louis's crisps are gone. Revenge complete. There should be satisfaction in that spiteful success, but Liam's mood feels damp. So he gets up off the couch, wiping his greasy fingers on his pants before grabbing his phone and walking away to the kitchen to get some more snacks in the kitchen. Fingers in his ears again.

"A-ha!"

There's another bag of Kettle Chips, also in Sea Salt & Crushed Black Peppercorns flavor, when Liam opens the kitchen cabinet. It's also open, half-eaten— just like the one Liam pulled out to eat. Louis must have had a stash hidden somewhere and restocked when he saw his snack missing. Liam is more than happy to make this bag disappear, too, and take out his frustration on him. He grabs the bag and heads off on his way, not knowing where he's planning on going exactly. But on the dining table something catches his eye before he can think of a place. Liam walks over to inspect the object.

TV Prime, a very much local television listings booklet. A mysterious and tired looking man that Liam doesn't recognize has been chosen for the cover while the words Mr. Robot are shown in bright yellow font. Around him announcements are made for various shows. Liam checks the date. July 29 - July 31. 2016. _How did this get delivered here in the flood?_ he wonders. This reminds him of a video game where he stumbled upon some new resource that he could add to his weaponry stock to aid in the survival of the apocalypse. A TV listings magazine isn't nearly as useful especially since it's the end of the month. But Liam gives it a read anyway and takes a seat so he can see what shows he has to look forward to. After reloading his mouth with some crisps, he flips the page to July 29 and slides his finger down the channels until he gets to Film4. Once there he slides rightwards over the table graph until he makes it to 4pm. 

But there's no Bridge to Terabithia. Liam drags his finger left to look at earlier showings. But there's no Diary of a Wimpy Kid. Not the first one, or the second one. Liam checks the date on his phone. July 29, 2016. 5:21pm. He doesn't know why the movies don't appear in the listings. Maybe they just switched the schedule at last minute. Liam decides to look through the channels list again until he sees MTV, to check if the schedule is messed up there, too. And it is. Liam frowns, reaching into the black Kettle Chips bag to eat more crisps. There's no Video Love, The Official UK Top 40, or 16 and Pregnant. None of the shows and movies he's watched today appear in the schedule for July 29. Well then, he checks the programming from yesterday, Friday July 28. And there's nothing. Completely different programs from the ones he watched on Sky 1 and Disney Channel. He checks the date of the TV listings booklet again. July 29 - July 31. 2016. It doesn't make sense. Liam closes the booklet, annoyed that it's useless.

They have a little table where they abandon all the magazines and junk mail once they've finished reading them, so Liam heads there. It's a bit of a no man's land; what they dropped they never picked up again but never threw away, either. Louis is something of a little hoarder. Last time Liam threw the towering pile away Louis got mad. So he just organized them for him. Not that he has for a month. So it's a mess again. Once at the table, Liam drops the TV Prime booklet on the pile and turns around. But the sound of magazines cascading down onto the wooden floor forces him to turn around again.

"Great."

Over half the pile has slid off the table and down onto the floor. Liam's forced to bend down and pick them back up again. Cosmopolitan, Popular Photography, US Weekly, Ladies' Home Journal, Men's Fitness, TIME— "'Sex tips so hot you'll get turned on just reading them. Ooo." Julliane Hough. Cosmopolitan. February. "'Every girl's guide to a healthy diet'. Nice." Maria Menounos. Ladies' Home Journal. April 2014. "New on Film4: Bridge to Terab—" Liam stops himself to furrow his brow, a puzzled expression dawning on his face. TV Prime. He reads the side title again. "New on Film4: Bridge to Terabithia..." And then he checks the date. July 1 - July 7. 2016. "Hm."

Liam turns his head towards the living room to see that Bridge to Terabithia is playing, since he'd set the channel to switch automatically at 4:55pm. He looks back down at the TV listings booklet and opens it to the beginning announcement pages.

 **_New to Film4: Bridge to Terabithia_ **  
_Premiere alert! On July 3rd we're screening Disney's fantasy drama Bridge to Terabithia. Josh Hutcherson and AnnaSophia Robb play two children who discover a small, magical river island where their imaginations are brought to life. Catch it at 4:55pm._

"4:55pm..." he mutters.

It's not like Film4 doesn't play reruns. It's just strange that they would play a movie at the same time as an earlier showing from the beginning of the month instead of the movie scheduled for the day. According to today's Film4 programming they should be playing Footloose right now, not Bridge to Terabithia. But Liam wonders if the actual scheduling table chart will say the same thing. He flips the pages of the dated copy of TV Prime until he's on the page for July 3rd. Once faced with the crowded table chart he slides his finger down the list of channels until he sees Film4, and then slides it to the right.

_4:55pm_   
_Bridge to Terabithia_

So then it's true. Liam keeps surfing through the movie titles of the day, checking to see if the times match up to today's scheduled programming. He almost laughs when sure enough: Diary of a Wimpy kid at 11:00am, Diary of a Wimpy Kid: Rodrick Rules at 12:50pm, Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea at 2:55pm, and Bridge to Terabithia at 4:55pm.

"Fail." Liam doesn't realize he keeps talking to himself.

Maybe it's a technical error back at the company that broadcasts the channels. It's not an impossibility. The dates could've been switched by accident somehow, especially in this weather. The TV showing only two channels per day is already a technical difficulty. Liam wishes he knew any answers at all, but he has no idea how their TV works— if it's cable, satellite, or digital, or any other form of broadcasting. What is certain is that it's people who run these things. Mistakes happen. Liam can't remember watching Film4 on July 3rd to confirm whether or not they played the movies scheduled for today on that day instead. Maybe the same thing's happened with MTV.

Liam gets up from the floor, his legs a little achey from squatting for so long. He can't believe the TV company messed up like this. And he can't believe he never noticed before. It sparks his curiosity, mostly because he's looking for distractions. Liam takes a look outside at the storm. It's all still so foggy and gloomy, that flood making it look like he's floating in an ocean. He'd be a fool to believe it couldn't possibly be to blame. He's never seen weather this horrible live on for so long. No moment of pause or repose. Mother nature is vehement with this. Like it's revenge. There's a comparison Liam could draw that he averts. He takes a seat on the dining table and looks through the TV Prime booklet some more. Hunched over in intrigue and with elbows on the table, he checks for MTV's scheduling for July 3rd. And there it is again. Liam laughs.

The Official UK Top 40 at 9:00am, Video Love at 12:30pm, and a 16 and Pregnant marathon from 1:10pm to 5:30pm. July 3rd's schedule is what's played today for MTV, too. This mystery is more entertaining than watching 16 and Pregnant. _What does this mean?_ Although now there isn't much to investigate anymore. He's only got two channels to compare with the shows he's watched today. And the shows he's watched for the past nine days wouldn't be the ones for July 3rd, they'd be from previous days. Liam would have to do some math. This is already confusing enough.

Still, Liam checks. _It'd be funny if the shows were all from this day_ , he thinks with a chuckle he forgot to keep in his head. He pinches the pages with his greasy fingers and checks all the channels he remembers watching for the past nine days. And he just slides his finger right until he sees if maybe a show is familiar pops up.

What happens is remarkable.

Subtly widened eyes scan the table of each page as Liam passes it, drags his finger, inspects, confirms, repeats. His jaw pauses mid-chew before returning in a sluggish pace, again and again with every channel listing he checks. Because he isn't paying attention to anything else. It feels like fireworks popping with questions and doubts are going off in his head, like it's working to solve some new discovery. But he knows he won't. Not at chance. Because looking through every channel he's gotten signal for— Channel 4, Sky 1, Disney Channel, E4, ITV, Sky Sports— Liam sees that—

"What the hell..."

—every day for the past nine days, the TV has been broadcasting programing from only July 3.

This feels like a magic trick. But maybe it's not as funny as Liam thought it would be. Now he's just confused with no answers in sight. This is just weird. Guessing only makes him more ignorant, swimming around for answers on a topic he knows nothing like if he was in high school. Not the best headspace to get into when the circumstances are already depriving him of enough insight. Everything is weird. Liam doesn't like that the storm is doing this. Everything is supposed to be normal and preserved. But the environment keeps changing. And he's changing there, too.

Liam moves away from the dining table and heads back to the little table with the rest of the magazines. He drops the TV listings booklet on the pile and then carelessly tosses the rest of the magazines from the floor to join in. Standing there he sees the TV Prime magazine peeking from under the heap. Mindlessly, he grabs a copy of Cosmopolitan from inside pile and places it on top so he can't see it anymore. And he turns around, a childish growl making its way past his throat as he scratches his scalp.

This is embarrassing. For the past week and a half everything was perfect. This morning he thought he had something to be proud of, but now it feels like he's woken up from a dream. Lucid from all angles. _Why did you have to wake me up?_ He doesn't know who he'd ask. He supposes himself. But he feels bad for thinking that, too. That he would want to forget he has a life and a family and a future he's amputated from makes him feel bad, because he's angry at the contrived person he's made of himself to try and cope with this situation. It isn't worth it. There isn't a step-by-step journey he can think of that lead him here. Time's up, snap out of it, play time's over.

_"Are we slaying the giant troll after school today?"_

_"You've got your head in the clouds, Leslie."_

_"Huh?"_

_"There is no giant troll, alright?"_

_"Well, you better not let the Terabithians hear you. They thought you were their king."_

"What..." Bridge to Terabithia is already fourty minutes in. Liam's disturbed by how much time has passed by, and generally upset he's missed so much of it already. He peeks into the living room from the kitchen, frowning when he sees that Leslie and Jesse are on the bus, and Jesse is looking at a puppy outside the bus window. _Why?_ He'll never know. The context was fourty minutes ago. He stays there from inside the kitchen, alternating between watching and returning to the trail that paves the journey of his headspace.

It's probably so much easier for Louis. Of course it is. And he resents him for it. Their war didn't end in a peaceful surrender after all.

Louis won. Liam lost.

He can't stay here anymore. Reconciliation can't matter anymore. He can't keep fantasizing, wondering, guessing— _lying_. But he doesn't know what he's supposed to do. Louis doesn't care about him anymore and it's fruitless for Liam to try and do anything about it. He can't get over it, and he can't change things between them. He has to graduate and see his family again— it isn't worth jeopardizing for the sake of getting back with his ex. He's embarrassing himself and warping his perception of what really matters. There's just Louis and him and that's not his world. He can't matter anymore. He needs to move on. _You've been **stranded** for a **month** , you bloody idiot._

On July 5th Liam was optimistic that he and Louis would make up and that the storm would go away. For the past week and a half he thought he made peace with their permanent goodbye and left their burning paradise for good. Now he doesn't know where he is. It was never supposed to go on for this long. This has passed its expiration date and Liam's out of ideas. _What the fuck am I supposed to do now?_ Calling 999 is terrifying and he doesn't know why. Maybe Louis won't want to come. Maybe something will go wrong and they'll fall into the flood and die. Death— there's something he'd never considered. And that's just outside the door.

On the TV Liam watches as Jesse passes Leslie a note while walking to class. It reads, 'GIANT TROLL HUNTING SEASON BEGINS TODAY!!' And Leslie smiles. Jesse changed his mind and is willing to play pretend with Leslie again in their secret paradise.

For the first time he feels like he has a reason to panic and he doesn't know why. And that's scary, that he has to tell himself to calm down.

 _"X gon' give it to ya_  
_Fuck wait for you to get it on your own_  
_X gon' deliver to ya_  
_Knock knock, open up the door, it's real_  
_Wit the non-stop, pop pop and stainless steel"_

Louis's phone rings—that Deadpool ringtone he thought was just too cool not to set up after Liam texted him a link. Liam can hear Louis walking around behind him in the kitchen. He frowns, hateful, and dismisses himself towards the living room again so he can return to the sofa.

"Hello?" Louis answers.

"I hate you," Liam whispers once he's lying down on the cushions, looking up at the ceiling while his foot taps anxiously over the arm of the sofa. His face feels hot and tight, like it's shrinking or drying up. He hates Louis for being stubborn, he hates him for throwing him away and never wanting him back. For winning. Was it never hard for him? Liam supposes Louis's stronger than him, more resistant. 

"....No, I'm not going...."

Concentrated on eavesdroppig, he can't tell if Louis is declining an invitation or commenting on the storm that won't let him leave. He wonders what Louis looks like today. He probably looks really good, his stubble growing into a fluffy beard. He _reeked_ of weed. Liam misses sharing blunts and bong hits with him. They used to have so much fun.

"....I'm not going. I said it weeks ago...."

He sounds morose and Liam softens his eyes. He decides to get up off the couch and more towards the kitchen to eavesdrop more efficiently, and to retrieve the Kettle Chips he left behind. He's never heard Louis bring up the storm when he's talking on the phone. He's usually always laughing away and making jokes; normal chats.

"....You don't understand....No, you don't...."

Louis sounds bored or maybe disapproving. He isn't his joyful self, that's for sure. His voice is flat and quiet, his body leaned over the counter as he holds himself on his elbows. It could just be the weed. Liam drifts behind him until he's stationed at the window looking outside. He pulls his phone out of his sweatpants and places it on a lamp table, so he can stuff his hands in his pockets.

"...No, I wouldn't. Alright?....I'm not gonna talk to you about this.... I am not having this conversation with you...."

_What conversation?_

"....I don't care what mum thinks. It's not her fucking decision to make...Okay, you don't. You don't.... Sorry, no. No...." Louis laughs that bad laugh. The one where he's mad, dry as bone and backhanded. "....Okay. That's great....Okay. Bye, Lots."

That was the sound of Louis hanging up on someone talking to him— Liam knows it well. Lots would be the nickname of the nickname of Louis little sister— Charlotte, Lottie, Lots. And Louis worships the ground his sisters walk on, so it's unusual to hear him arguing with the one he's closest to. _What's going on?_ With Louis, that is. Liam was under the impression that he hasn't been doing anything at all. When he managed to squeeze conflict into smoking and playing video games is yet another mystery, another new development. There's only one thing Louis could be upset about— the one thing they share.

Louis didn't win either.

 _There's still hope!_ Liam could strangle himself for thinking that.

Everything just became worse.

Staring out the window he wonders if, after all this is over, looking at rivers will serve as a trigger to drive him into a fit of madness. He's sure there's a form of psychological torture or reprogramming relating back to the conditioning of the human mind to one constant thing. The most surreal time of his life. He's taking a trip to Nevada, USA after this. Stupidly, he wonders if it could possibly be a trip for two. _Still. **Why?**_

Everything's fallen into imbalance again. If it was ever even balanced. Liam didn't know it was see-sawing the first time. Just when he thinks he's adapted to conflict, he's startled back into a downgrade. There's no progress. It's limbo. It's purgatory. His mind has stepped back and forth too many times today and he doesn't know how to get himself to stop; making wrong guesses and no one's had the decency to put him out of his misery.

 _Think. Be smart. Do something_ , Liam tells himself. Not the best advice. Terrible advice. _You need to do something. Fucking do something. Don't just stand there._ He looks down at the flood, his brow slack and his eyes focused too hard on something so devastating. This is a _natural_ disaster. This is from _this_ world. Liam feels the panic again. Like nausea clawing it's way up its throat. He swallows and watches the storm from behind the glass, his mind unfolding as he pants to the rhythm of his racing heart. _Where is it going? Where's it all going?_ It could swallow them whole. It could kill them. Liam blinks too many times. _Why is this happening?_ In every sense. Why is there a storm? Why did he and Louis have to argue? Why do they still refuse to talk to each other? Why is he having a panic attack for the first time in his life?

The sound of the roaring flood is deafening when Liam opens the front door and steps outside. He slams the door behind him and presses his back against it, squinting his eyes in the face of fast-blowing mist. It's worse than the night he broke up with Louis. It's a beige-grey waterworld and it takes his breath away. There's an enormous river that's swallowed the road, and thick rain that blurs the horizon. He could die in there, just right over there if he takes a few steps. This could be the end of the world. Liam doesn't know what he's doing out here. He looks down at the steps leading up to the front door of the building. There's only two steps you can walk over before the flood drowns the rest of the way down. There's no way out. Liam can't even peek his head out to see the buildings around him without rainfall slapping his eyes shut. All he can see pressed up against the door is what's in front.

And what's in front are people. There, across the street— or really, the flood. Liam finds himself grunting as he fidgets anxiously, the heavy mist blinding him. He uses his hands to try and keep the water from hitting his eyes so he can see clearly. It's an odd feeling to be shocked to see people outside. Liam hasn't for all his moody days spent looking out the window. There was a creeping worry that there'd been some evacuation he and Louis missed, and were left stranded and alone— very apocalyptic. But that's gone, now. There's people across the street walking about. Clearly no rescue team has come for them. But maybe that's just neglect on the government's fault. Do they need help, too?

"Hey! Hey!!" Liam screams desperately from the front steps, flailing his arms as wide as he can to try and get the neighbors across the street to see him. Liam can see their figures. Two. They're down the steps and standing next to the bushes just behind the front gates. They don't seem to move around much. But Liam can't see much at all. He wonders if the ground is just higher over there and the flood only reaches up to the sidewalk. "Over here! Help!" Never thought he'd hear himself screaming for help. Just like in the movies. He'd rather believe he's exaggerating just so someone can hear than believing his life is really in danger. "Hey!!" It doesn't look like they've noticed him at all. " _Over here!!_ " But this might be his only chance.

He has to try harder.

Liam gives a growl as he forces himself to walk forward and face the storm, the rain crashing down on him hard while the wind tries take him possessively.  _Ohhhh Jesus, what am I doing?_ He's grabbing onto the rails of the building's front stairs as he sticks out a foot and tentatively dips it in the racing flood. It nearly snatches the whole thing away. Liam's lucky he was holding on tight. He gives a very whiny shout this time. Soaking wet in hot July's angry rain, one hand on the slippery black bars of the stairs as he tries to dip his foot in the water again. This time pressed against the steps' railings, so all the current does is push him against it instead of pulling him away. Liam can barely move from the pressure. But he just needs to be one step closer, so the people across the flood can see him. Liam notices there's no noticeable debris in the murky water; cars, trees, pieces of wood. It's more of a river. Less dangerous, then. Still terrifying.

"Hey!" he tries again, blinking his way into seeing the people across from him clearly as he waves for their attention. " _Heey!! Help!!_ " The people across from him don't move for a while. But suddenly they do. An extended arm as they huddle together for three seconds, and then closer as they look down. Liam knows that choreography.

They're taking selfies.

" _Heeey!!_ " he screams, letting go of the rail to wave both his arms. The scream came more from a place of frustration, knowing they're distracted. " _Help! Help!!_ "

And he jumps.

And he slips off the step.

And the flood pulls him away.


	3. Someone We Love Has Died

But not before he holds on to the rails.

Liam's body is underwater and floating horizontal as the current tries to pull him away. He can hardly breathe and it's not from the water slapping on his face. It feels like his body is shutting down from the terror and now isn't the time, not when his lone grip on the rails is weakening. His lifeline. Liam's left hand fights to reach out through the current of the flood and it's like trying to break through a solid surface; resistance, pressure. There isn't ground under him no matter how much he kicks, water going up his nose as he gasps and cries out.

All his strength is harvested for a single cause and he's never felt anything like it. This is all he has, this is everything right here. His grip from one hand slipping, his other hand fighting to take its place. Liam isn't strong enough to hold on much longer. The flood swings his body side to side and his wrist throbs in a newfound ache. He can't twist his body enough for his right arm to reach out. The current keeps pushing his shoulder back and his hand can't meet the distance to the rails. But Liam has to.

His world has never felt so small. Life a single grip away. For a moment he considers death, a disjointed suggestion trickling over his surface as he fights to live. He's terrified of losing a life whose meaning he failed to heed. This is never where he saw himself. In every sense. It doesn't feel real to breathing to be this hard. To form fear so profoundly it stings under his skin.

To panic and choke when he feels his hand slipping from the rail completely.

Floating away.

Until his hand manages to grab on.

Then the other one joins in again.

And with both hands on the rails Liam starts to pull himself towards the stairs to safety. His neck hurts from trying to keep his head held up above the water, and so do his arms. If he weren't into going to the gym he knows he'd be weak enough to be dead by now. But thinking about that doesn't make sense. Survival mode is the worst mentality. It's a single tunnel with a dimming light at the end.

But Liam makes it.

He saves himself from pitch blackness.

"Ohhhh fuck! Ohhh my _God_!" he shouts as he crawls his way back up the flooded stairs, coughing up what he isn't sure is actual water in his lungs. He doesn't know what that would feel like. All this water— rain, flood— It's making him sick.

Time to go back inside.

Liam fights the urge to cry as he stands dripping wet in the safety of Louis's home. He coughs again, his breathing narrow like it's pushing through a cavity in his chest. And bending over with his hands on his wet sweatpants he gives in. And cries. But he can get away with it since he's soaking from head to toe, just like he got away with pissing himself. Water weighs down his clothes and drips onto the floor, a puddle growing at his feet. Recovering from a near death experience— there's something he could've done without today.

He almost died. So close it touched him in permanency, in forget-me-not; trauma.

"Woo!" Liam blows out a comically deep breath as he rubs his face, reeling himself back from the branding in his own mind. His skin is red and that might give away that he's crying. So does the sniffing. "You're okay..." he tells himself like he's a good friend, like he cares. "Yeah, you're okay. Come on, now..." He's alive. Another deep breath as he stands upright, rubbing his trembling hands over his face again, and then his eyes, sniffing his runny nose away as he _breathes_. And _breathes_. He's never felt anything like that before. "God..." The day gets worse.

And the floor creaks.

"The fuck is this..."

"Great," Liam sobs with a chuckle when he realizes Louis is standing in front of him, frowning at the mess he's made.

He was right, Louis does look really good today. Adidas from head to toe; a tank top, sweatpants, some socks. There's that baby beard blooming slowly and surely around his chizzled jawline in his laziness, and there are his blue eyes red, glazed and hazed. This isn't the time for Liam to dip into an old sentiment. _Oh God, you're so beautiful. I miss you so much._ In the old days— the good days that sit in a backwards path just around the corner— Liam would tell him so. And go over and grab him, cuddle and kiss him while Louis laughs and reflects it all right back.

 _Ugh don't cry._ So he wipes his face and lays down a reminder not to sniffle. "I'll clean it up," Liam tells Louis as he looks down at the puddle of water around him that extends its proportion. It squelches out from his socks so he peels them off with a splat as they both hit the wooden floor. His clothes just keep dripping everywhere and have left a trail of water from the front door. Louis walks away now, and Liam thinks he's leaving him to clean up the mess. But he's going to the cabinets in the kitchen, he notices. Where they have the paper towels. "I'll clean it up, Lou," Liam tells him like he didn't already. He doesn't know why he's talking to him at all. Maybe because he almost died, and he's scared and confused and the world's come back to him fragile and freshly born. And there isn't much he cares about. The contrived web he's weaved finally feels as trivial as it really is. Maybe this could be a rebirth for them both.

Maybe things can finally change.

But Louis is cursing under his breath as he walks over, and asks, “How the fuck did this happen?” So then, maybe not.

“I've got to change my clothes..." Liam's excuse for leaving the scene of the crime. He limps to feign a sprained ankle; making himself a more pitiful thing, wondering if Louis will ask what's happened. For a moment he considers telling him he almost died to spark some emotion in him, but he doesn't know why he decides against it. It would do him good. It might be the perfect opportunity if not the only one. Not that it should matter.

Liam's phone is ringing.

Turning his head to look back on the other side of the flat, Liam can see his tiny little LG phone vibrating on the table next to the window where he left it. Thank God he took it out of his pocket when he did. It would've been dead and dripping water right now if he hadn't. He almost forgot what his ringtone sounded like, and it twists a drill right into his chest to feel the new meaning of it; opportunity, salvation. His dark brown eyes widen, his broad jaw clenching as he races over. Concern over his wet clothes abandons in a new pile, a pile of things that could never compare to what really matters. Louis frowns as he looks at the trail of water Liam's left behind.

Liam wipes his hands on the curtains before grabbing his phone with trembling fingers. It almost slips right from that jittery grip. Liam forgets to check who's calling before he answers. "Hello?!" It's a choked sob that catches him by surprise. He thought he'd gotten rid of his weeping state of mind. Liam brings a hand to his pounding chest to ease his breathing, to aid it as he waits in anticipation muddled and burdened with too much emotion from too many places to serve him as anything good. He waits. He breathes. He feels sick looking out the window and he doesn't want to know Louis is behind him. So he leaves, walks away, races into the guest bedroom where he knows Louis won't go. And he sits on the bed not caring that he's wet. Not caring about anything but making contact with the transitory world that reaches out to him for the first time. "Hello?!"

"Liam?"

He pants, his gaze blind as he faces the floor.

"Liam!"

It's an old woman. It can't be just any old woman who knows his number— and his name. "...Nan?” Liam wonders which grandmother it could be. His heart pounds on stubbornly.

"Liam!" the old woman laughs. Her voice is aged and gritty, like its wrinkled in her throat, too. She yelps and cheers. "It's your grandmother! It's— It's Darcy!"

"Nan?" Liam smiles, his brows curving upward as the warm image of his grandmother seeps into his mind. Darcy, his father's mother, 87 years of age. She's been living in a retirement home for the past nine years after Alzheimer's and diabetes began to eat away at too much of her. For as long as Liam could remember, his grandmother Darcy has always been an overweight and talc-smelling old woman sitting in a wheelchair with purplish skin under her white nylon tights. Short and fluffy white hair, a heavily sagging face. Always happy to see Liam. Asked him about kindergarten year after year until she began mistaking him for his father post-puberty. _"Georg you look so silly with that... that long hair. Yeaah. All over your eyes, there.. I-I don't like it! Why don't you cut it? A-And why are your trousers so tight? You're packed up like a sausage!"_ A delight.

"Oh Liam, I've missed you!"

And she sounds so happy to hear Liam. It's been years since he'd visited her. But last time she spoke with him she wouldn't talk at all. The staff at the retirement home said she'd become angry and spiteful, and that she was refusing to speak with anyone. And in time he figured she'd long forgotten about him, that her deteriorating mind made him into some shape of malformed memories that would make visiting her nothing more than a grievance. But an awful grandson he was anyway— he always downplayed that. Now he feels that guilt completely. Because she's quite alright. She remembers him. No one deserves to be alone on their final days. And at 87 she certainly is. She isn’t some vegetable wasting in insignificance— she’s a human being who longs and feels like the rest of the world once she remembers her name again. Liam misses her. It's sad to hear how much it means to her that she's finally speaking with him. Salvation for them both, maybe.

"Hello? Liam!"

Liam sighs deep and smiles, rubbing his eyes. "Wow...!" his voice trembles. He rubs all over his now dry face. Though not for long. He's crying just a little again. "Hello!"

"Oh you crying? Well w-why are you crying, Liam?"

"Sorry I... I've just had a really bad day. It's been a crazy day, like..." _I literally almost died, just now._ Without ever speaking to her. She would've been calling to a dead man, never hear his voice. Liam blows out a deep breath, his eyes squeezed shut as he hunches over, elbow on his thigh holding up his weight. "I'm so sorry I haven't talked to you in so long, nan."

"Oh uh that's quite alright, dear."

"It feels really good. You sound good. You sound good, nan."

"I'm feeling _much_ better now!”

“Yeah? Oh that’s good." And he sighs, swallowing as he opens his eyes, sits up straight, and blinks until he's back together again. "I-I’m happy for you."

"Yeah. Yep, I'm very happy. I wanted to uh... I gave you a call, did you see?"

"Yes," he smiles.

"We all miss you here, Liam. Oh, no. Not me. I'm not— Well, I'm where I've gone now. We miss you very much. A-And we all love you."

Liam can't tell if his heart's sunk or if it's bouncing with joy. Everyone misses him. At least someone cares. Being here it's been easy to feel worthless. "I miss you guys, too. But I'm alright! I'm at Louis' flat." He hates saying it. "We— We're stuck. We're stuck in a storm. God, it's horrible."

She doesn't say anything. Maybe she's forgotten. Liam tries to get her attention back.

"How's my mum? Is she worried?"

"She's been quite sad ever since you left."

"Well tell her I'm alright, please! I've been with Louis at his flat this whole time. I promise. I haven't gone anywhere. There's this storm that's caught us by surprise and we can't get out. We haven't g— Well we haven't had TV or telephone service, but we do have that now. Thankfully.” The summary spoken out loud is like a splash of cold water that puts things into perspective. In a way it comforts him. Makes him feel like the situation is a tangible thing. He makes himself forget he almost died if only for a moment. He's just answering a call from his grandmother— he'll ignore the rest. _I'll tell her to call for help later._ Liam sighs, his heartbeat easy. “We’ve got electricity and water and all that. I’ve not been able to call anyone and my phone's just about to run out of service. The month is almost over. You know, you're the first person to call me, nan!” he laughs. “Nan?" Does she understand what he's saying? _Oh, probably not_.

"That's why I have to drive over to... At a little garden I bought myself some little porcelain frogs. Their little heads—"

Definitely not. "What?"

"It's like wobbly bobbly heads. They didn't... they let me keep them after I... uh..."

Liam sighs and lets her go on. The most kind-hearted disappointment takes over for a moment. Because he thinks about how she may not come of much use to him. In fact grandmum Darcy might be the most useless person who could've called him. There isn't anything practical that could come from an eighty-seven year old woman with Alzheimer's regarding a rescue mission. He wonders if it's possible. As she talks on he looks down at his phone and at the little signal bars on the top. They're all empty. When he puts his phone back to his ear he hears his grandmother shouting.

"Hellooo? Hello! Hello hello. Are you listening to me, Liam? Can you hear me?"

"Oh! Yes! I'm sorry. I didn't catch—"

"How's Louis?"

Liam looks at the shut door, wondering if Louis can hear him. "Uh...” So he speaks quietly and hopes her hearing is enough to catch his words. “We broke up... actually."

"Who?"

"Me and Louis. My boyfriend. Do you remember Louis?"

"Of course yes."

"Yeah. It's been quite... awkward being stuck living together, to say the least.” Talking with his grandmother about it feels confidential like a church confession. It makes him feel good to vent with honesty even if she'll forget most of it. But she's back on the path now.

"That's no good. You two love each other very much. You've uh... you've got to hold onto love above a-all else. You can't let it all go to waste, now. Isn't that right?"

"Yeah, but.... he's bloody stubborn. He's quite dead-set on—"

"What?"

"I said Louis is stubborn. And he doesn't want to get back together with me. In our relationship."

"You know he can't see you, you know."

"It's not like I'm hiding or anything. We sort of just... avoid each other but we walk around and pass by each other every single day,” he mutters, louder than before without thinking. “It sucks.”

"You haven't tried talking to him? Nobody's.... Yep, they don't— ...never talks to me anymore." She engages with Liam the best she can, despite losing track of her own speech. He's surprised she's holding conversation at all. Usually she's worse.

"Uh... sometimes we uh.... I mean we talk but it's not like— I mean it's like, 'Hey move out of the way' or... things like that. Do you understand?"

"Yep."

"Yeah. I mean eventually I do think we'll get to talking." A revelation. A coin of honesty flipped to reveal the head. "But things are quite tense between us. It's been a month since we've... you know, broken up or really spoken to each other."

"I've, I've I've... I've gone... I've gone out into the world."

"...Yeah?"

"We are all... connected in this life. In life you can only love. And God, he's put on, uh... put us on this... Earth to love."

"Yeah! That's right."

"That's all you can really do, innit?"

"Yeah."

"I'm sure that Louis, he's very sad, a-and misses you very much, darling."

Liam wants to believe that, too. His lips are pursed into a sorry smile, looking over at the door again. "He doesn't act like it... I dunno..."

"It's not his fault."

 _She's so right_ , he thinks. And for a moment that's strange. Liam remembers in the past his grandmother would sometimes ask him if he'd told Louis he liked him yet, when they'd been dating for four years already. And Louis was in the room. It's a miracle she remembers so well now. "It really isn't. I was sort of.... I mean it's my fault we broke up. I started some stupid argument with him in the car and it just go way out of hand. And you know, I never said I was sorry.” And he can’t remember the last time he thought about how much this is all his fault. “I guess it's just pretty stupid now, looking back at it and stuff."

She pauses, and for a moment Liam worries she's gone off again. But his grandmum is still there. In every sense. "Louis loves you very much, Liam." She's really rooting for them. She always loved Louis when she remembered him. Everyone did. All small and charming and handsome. Everyone was in love with him as much as Liam was. Is.

"I love him, too..." Liam whispers as he looks to the shut door, fantasizing about Louis eavesdropping and missing him. "I miss him, too. I want things to go back to the way they used to be."

"B-But... You know. You know they can't Liam."

"Why not?” he says in a sort of whimper. He thought she was comforting him. “What do you mean?"

"Louis, he's alive and you— you're dead. Yep."

His brow furrows, and he can't help but snort. "What?"

"You're going to have to... to make your peace with it. Yeah. Only then can you move on... You've got to move on."

"...Okay," he chuckles bitterly. "Uh." Some uneasy melancholy wraps him, embraces him. This is more than getting lost and helping her find her way back. Mistaking him for his dad and mistaking him for dead aren't exactly the same. But they're usually mistakes— reality misinterpreted. What reality did she misinterpret to believe Liam to be dead? He doesn't know how to handle her disease over the phone. Hanging up is the last thing he wants to do. This is exactly what he'd been dreading. The work. "Nan, I... nan—"

"You've been dead for some time now, Liam. Yeah. I'm sorry."

Liam narrows his eyes. "Nan, I'm not dead."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Liam..."

"No, granny. Listen to me. I am not dead. I'm calling you from Louis's flat. Are you l—"

"You died."

Maybe she watched a movie. They always play movies in the retirement home. Cheap 80's flicks. Was there someone named Liam who died in a movie? Liam Neeson? How old is Liam Hemsworth? Liam shifts his weight on the bed, mindlessly playing with the string of his sweatpants with a tense brow. But he's curious. Maybe she can explain. "Granny, what do you mean when you say I'm dead? Why would you say that?"

She doesn't answer. _Nevermind._

"Okay, look, uh..." He tries to remember their conversation from before. "Right, I... We were talking about Louis. Do you remember, nan?"

"Yes."

"You were giving me advice. That was quite nice."

"Yes! Well y-yes. I know!"

He nods. "Right!"

"I was helping you come to terms with uh... your passing from the world."

And Liam frowns deep and then rolls his eyes. "No. No, that's not— You're confused, nan. Yeah? Alright?"

"No."

There isn't patience for this. He wants to go back to what they were talking about, or at least talk about something that's real. Liam hates that he has to talk to his grandmother like she's a child. It's like he's lost another thing, another connection. "No, nan, I'm not dead. I'm right here with Louis. No one's dead we're just stuck here in his flat, where he lives. You're confused. Listen to me."

"I'm exactly at... the exact moment where— ...God gives each of us purpose. Liam? Liam, you have to understand. This is the truth that I-I accepted. That's when they told me."

"Told you what?" She misheard someone, then. Paranoia is compelling him to ask. Belief isn't necessarily required. He just wants to know where she's coming from, and how close to reality that place is. "Did someone tell you I died, nan?"

"The police came and told your mum everything."

Liam stays quiet, not knowing how to interpret that. "Told her what?"

"It's you who's— Liam, you are... the one who's not listening to me. Yeah. You have to understand me, now."

"I'm sorry. I don't understand. You're not making any sense." He shakes his head. "Alright? You're not making any sense because I'm alive, for God's sake." _Just ignore her_ , he tells himself. _Change the subject._ Because he doesn't want to talk about this anymore— that's his logic speaking. His body is telling him otherwise. Emotion sticks to his skin and gives him goosebumps, makes him nervous and harasses him with suggestion. And the suggestion— the actual _factual_ suggestion— is toxic. And he can't bear to let it enter his mind once he takes it seriously. And yet he does.

“Yes.”

“Yes what? Yes you understand that I'm alive?”

“What?” she laughs.

“Why are you laughing? Are you joking?” Liam’s jaw is clenched, his voice loud without meaning to. “Grandmum!”

“No. No, I am _not_ making jokes.”

His breathing is quicker, his head a little heavier. “Did the police really come and tell my mum I died?" _Of course not. Stop listening to her and hang up._

"Yes."

That doesn’t make sense. It’s upsetting for Liam to find himself considering her to be telling the truth as she believes it to be. Working logic around her claims, a dark picture is painted. Liam doesn't get rid of it. His heart is beating faster. "What did the police say?" _Stop asking. Just leave it alone_.

His grandmother stays quiet, grumbling incoherently.“Have I told you about my um… here they’ve got these little cups, they serve you cubes...

"What?"

"Diced fruits.”

“ _Granny!_ ”

“Why are you shouting?” she sounds offended.

Liam's breathing is fast all over again. He's nervous. And he can't even follow a train of thought. All he finds himself saying is, “Tell my mother I'm alright!" He might be panicking, he doesn't know. "Where is she? Is she around? Can you put her on, please?" He stands up from the bed and walks to one corner of the room.

"No. No, I'm afraid I can't reach her. Yeah."

And then he walks over to the other side. Then back. Pacing very properly and not an inch of him is aware of it. Liam can't handle this. His own voice guides him to the right path but he's stubborn and stupid and won't listen. "Are there people at the retirement home there with you, nan?" Feigning calmness. "Could you put them on, please?"

"I can't contact anyone, Liam. No. I-It’s just me and you!” And she doesn't sound very serious at all. "You don’t like talking to me?"

"Where are you, grandmum?"

"Oh I'm not sure."

Liam doesn't know if he should hang up or if there's any way he can salvage the conversation and guide it back to a road that can take him to someplace good. _Rescue_ , he remembers. _We need fucking help._ There isn't any angle for him to gain perspective from. There's just him in a room and his demented grandmother babbling on the phone. And Liam can't talk to her anymore. He feels angry because this doesn't feel fair. He's pacing faster, his bare heels knocking on the wooden floor. "Nan, please listen to me. Are you listening?"

"Yes."

"Please listen carefully. Alright?" He swallows, steadying his breathing. "Could you please call one of the staff members working in there in the retirement home, and put them on the phone for me?"

"Oh no, don’t make me do that, now. They’ll take my telephone away and it’s mine."

Liam's will to be patient is gone. And with eyes wide he rambles, "Nan, if what you're saying is true then you need to tell my family I'm alright!" He laughs because he feels rude for shouting, and he thinks he's lowered his voice now but he hasn't. He can't tell. "It’s very serious! This isn’t a b... b-bloody joke! Tell them you spoke to me today! I'm staying with Louis, I'm alright! I'm alive!" Claims Liam never thought he'd find himself arguing over. But what can be expected from a woman sealed in the shell of incurable deterioration? Nine years later, what did he expect? There's no reality to draw from this and he should leave it alone before he takes this too far and too seriously. "Jesus, I can't— I can't believe this!" Or really, more than he already is. "Does everyone think I'm dead?"

"No, _you_ are, Liam. You're who's dead.”

"Stop _saying_ that," the anger bleeds through his voice, drawing it out from the back of his throat as his jaw clenches. "For God's sake, I am not dead. Are you listening to me? Stop saying I'm dead. Stop. Please."

"I'm sorry, Liam. I know it's... it's a difficult process— "

"I'll talk to you later, nan."

"Oh bugger."

"Bye."

"Bye-bye, Liam!"

Liam fights the urge to throw his phone at the wall when he hangs up. He isn't pacing anymore. He looks down at the ground with his head in his hands as he tries to make sense of what's going on. "What the fuck..." he whimpers. _Nothing. Nothing is going on_ , he fruitlessly tells himself again. Any other day he'd listen. But today he's too raw with feeling and sensitive to everything. He rubs up his upper arm and lets his hand slide under the sleeve of his shirt, anxiously thinking of what to do. He isn't even wet anymore. Neither is the bed.

The picture painted: At some point during him not coming home and not coming into contact with anyone for almost a month and being nowhere to be found, Liam was pronounced missing. Milk carton missing. And then, maybe he was found. But it wasn't him. A distorted corpse, a coincidental doppelganger that his mother misidentified in her own emotional hysteria. And that makes sense. That's possible. Liam feels like he could jump into that flood again.

"What do I do..."

Everything Liam knows disintegrates with every passing minute and the reality he's stepping in isn't the one he walked into. _Just go to bed. Calm down_ , another word of comfort that panic slaps away. Because he needs to do something. Liam can't just ignore it all. If he knew all of this would happen he would’ve strangled his love for Louis until it died. He would’ve murdered it on the very first day. He would've dropped him off and driven his car away back home with his parents. He's pacing again, his phone held tightly in his hand. It feels like his stomach is what's throbbing in his chest and his heart has shriveled from the stress like settled rainwater dying under the sun's gaze. Liam could vomit.

He does.

It springs out from inside him twice until there isn't anything to splatter on the floor. So then, there wasn't a point in eating Louis's crisps, either. Another mark down.

"Fuck...!" he groans, wiping his mouth as he steps away from the mess he's made. The smell, the taste— Liam cringes. His eyes have watered and his head feels like it's been punched from the inside out. Another upheaval threatens to punch its way up from inside him but he keeps it down, throwing his head back and taking deep breaths until they turn to sobs. And he's crying again.

If Liam were to count on his fingers how many times his world has ended today he'd need to take off his shoes to finish the list. Maybe grow more limbs. He thinks too much and he doesn’t know how to ever stop. The trail he’s paved behind him to remember all of this is nothing more than land muddying into a swamp and it gets worse by the hour, by the minute. He just isn't a strong enough person to be so alone, to carry weight that sits out of sight and beats down on his back until he breaks.

Maybe he just did.

“Louis!” he calls out when he opens the door to the guest bedroom and walks out into the hall. “Louis!”

When Liam reaches the front door Louis isn’t there. The floor is dry. He turns around, heads back into the hall and past the guest bedroom and knocks on the door beside it. Their bedroom. Louis’s bedroom, he decides. It’s locked. He’s in there.

“Louis we need to talk,” he talks to the shut door. Pot smoke sticks to the wood. Liam bangs his fist on it desperately. “Oi!” With his ear to the door he can hear music coming from inside. Not loud enough to make Louis deaf. Liam hits the door again, frowning. “Open up! It’s serious!”

Nothing. The mattress squeaks and that’s about it.

“L-Listen we need to get out of here, alright?” His voice his trembling, like his racing heart is strangling it in his throat. He tries to make sense and sound okay. “It's been a fucking month and my grandmum just called and apparently my whole family thinks I fucking died.” That's not true. But Liam pauses and lets that sink in anyway. “Yeah. Because they had no idea I was even here. Alright, we can’t do this anymore. We can’t just sit here acting like petty little bitches for the rest of our lives because everything is going wrong and, and it's all getting messed up! It's fucked up! W-We have to go, we have to get out of here.”

Nothing.

Liam slams his fist on the door as hard as he can, his red eyes narrowed in rage. “You listening to me, asshole?! Open the fucking door!” Another bang. “Quit being a fucking _bitch_ , this is serious! If you hate me fine but I need to get back to my family! They're worried about me, do you fucking understand?!"

Louis raises the volume of his music.

 _"They got that southern cookin'_  
_They got them fellas lookin'_  
_Wishin' I was easy I can see it_  
_That's when I say no,_  
_what fo'?_  
_Shawty can't handle this_  
_Ciara got that fire like_

 _"Oh,_  
_'round here we ridin' slow"_

It's Ciara.

“God, _fuck you!!_ ” Liam screams with hard, sharp blows thrown to the door. _Bang, bang, bang, bang!_ He feels heartbroken and blistering from the rage. Looking at the oak door—at that rejection— it makes him beat it more with his dark, bushy brows knit tightly together. He wishes he could beat down the door and beat Louis next. _Bang, bang, bang, bang_ — “What the fuck is _wrong_ with you?!?!” he cries out loud enough for it to grate his throat. “You might not give a shit about me, but my family fucking _does_!” And in the back of his throat there's another pressure. Like a pipeline peaking to its bursting point. A clog of feelings denied. Liam swears he could choke on the words he’s biting back. Panting, he tries to make it easier, starting with resting his head on the door as he looks down at his feet. Swallows, brings himself back more and more, until every breath brought in and emitted feels like punching holes through a sheet of plastic. Drainage; pressure release. Clear-headed while it lasts.

"You know, fuck this. I'm calling for help," Liam tells Louis like he's doing it to spite him. And he doesn't know how he got to thinking Louis doesn't want him to call a rescue team. But if honesty is still a tangible thing he'd confess he doesn't feel like he knows Louis anymore. Even though he'd confessed that he was still in love with him mere minutes ago.

Liam didn't realize he was still gripping his phone when he walked into the guest room to call 999. He thought he'd left it behind. Breathing is hard but bringing himself to dial the number 9 three times is even harder. He's never done it before. His life has never been a hard thing to venture through. Everything has always gone right. Never been an emergency to blemish the perfect record that was his world. Was— past tense.

"999 Emergency. Which service, please?"

This is surreal. Liam's first 999 call. He remembers the educational video they played in school when he was small. In case you're alone at home or your parents are the ones dying. You have three options: police, ambulance or— "Fire," he says as he wipes his red, puffy eyes.

"I'll put you through."

His heart is racing again. But he wants to be calm so he sits himself down on the bed and takes a deep breath. Just in time for another female operator to speak again.

"Ambulance emergency. Tell me exactly what's happened."

 _Ambulance?_ "No, I asked for the fire department," Liam tells her with a sniff, and quickly goes on. "I'm with my friend in a storm and there's a flood out—

"Are the men who shot your friend still there?"

He makes a face. "What? No, no one's shot anyone. There's a sto—"

"Are you with your friend now?" The operator keeps interrupting him and it makes him jittery.

He sighs quick and heavy. "Yes. We've been trapped i-in his flat for a month now. There's a big flood outside and—"

"How old is he?"

"Twenty-four."

"Is he awake?"

"Yes! Look, nothing's _wrong_ with him. We're both _fine_." Liam half expects the operator to tell him to calm down. His voice trembles more and it makes him feel stupid. "We are _trapped_ here! Please, we need help to get us—"

"Okay tell me your address."

Liam's face lets go of his furrowed brow and his eyes unfocus as he stutters, "Uh...332 West... Uh, Westberry..." _Stupid, stupid, stupid, you stupid fucking **idiot**_. He doesn't know the address. He doesn't know if they can rescue them without it. "Shit..." And without thinking he moves his hand to rub his eyes with his knuckle, still holding his phone. But his phone slips in the fidgety habit and falls to the ground. Liam watches the back cover that holds the battery in pop off and he yelps as he gets down on the floor to retrieve it. "Shit shit shit!" In a panic at the thought of the dropped call, even though the battery managed to stay in place. But it's a broken phone he's worried about. Liam quickly grabs his phone from the wooden floor and checks the screen. It's on and with no cracked glass, and he can hear the operator talking through the speaker. He should be breathing a sigh of relief.

But what comes instead is like a sledgehammer banged into his chest, ringing him like a gong and freezing him solid. His dark brown eyes go wide and glassy as he touches his fingers over the back of his phone. And when he flips it around he sees.

There's no battery.

Liam's too shocked to frown, to smile— he feels fused into a pause as his trembling fingers tap away at the empty square space where the battery should be. And then he flips it back to tap at the perfectly functioning screen. He presses the phone to his ear, holding it with both hands as he hunches his body closer unconsicously. In fear.

"We've organized some help for you. If you stay on the line I'm going to tell you exactly what to do next. Are you right by him now?"

Liam doesn't say a word. And the operator talks on as if he did.

"Yeah. Okay, listen carefully. We need to lay him flat on his back on the ground. Can you—"

Her voice cuts off. There's only a faint static scratching through the phone, ringing against Liam's ear. His brow knits together, his breathing faster as he listens to the gurgling static that begins.

"....me where the wo— pres....e on the— pressure— press—"

Liam slams his phone into the wall. It bounces right off with a sharp bang, and then slides to the other side of the room. Feeling comes to him after that. Feeling comes when he stumbles up from the floor and stands in the center of the room hyperventilating as he brings his hands up to head, his scalp. His breath comes sharp and tight, his fingers scratching too hard into his skin for it to do anything but worsen his panic. And it comes as a bubbling, rising heat in the pit of his belly. Not like vomit, bu—

Liam stutters his whimpers as his focus suddenly shifts to the floor. The vomit.

The vomit is gone.

Was it there when he came in? Liam can't remember. No one was in here. Louis was locked in his room the whole time. Was he the one who cleaned it? Did Liam imagine ever vomiting? Was it there when he left the room? Liam races out into the hall and he doesn't know where he's going. There's goosebumps running up under his skin but it feels like needle pricks instead. Like scratching, like it goes deeper under his skin and chews on his bones.

"I'm not going crazy I'm n-not going not—crazy I'm not g-going _fucking crazy_..."

Liam's sobbing as he slows down until he's standing in the kitchen. It feels like when he was in the flood choking on water. He feels like he's dying all the same. Breathing feels tight and heavy like he doesn't want to do it anymore. He doesn't want to think about the phone, the vomit, the call with his grandmother, the fall, the call with Niall, the TV guide— His skull is throbbing and all he does is squeeze it harder with his palms, his back bent forward as he keeps his eyes shut tight. And he can't bear to think. Nothing feels real. Liam's memories are suddenly dislodged and don't feel his own, as if paranoia has wriggled them loose like rusty screws. There's no line to divide things anymore. Everything makes him afraid and he feels squeezed and boxed and drowning in a growing void. He feels like his grandmother whose dementia has her logic mushed into pudding and her speech cut jagged. The idea of losing his own sanity is terrifying. Fear of madness is maddening. Why would he be going mad?

"What's happening?" he sobs. "W-What is... What is— I-I..." His choked sobs won't let him speak. He moves his hands away from his head and stands up straight, looking around helplessly. His face is red all the way up to his ears; his eyes puffy from the tears as he cries tiny like a baby. "What do I d-do..."

The TV is a static channel at full volume. He forgot to turn it off before leaving. _Go, go do it now_ , he hurries himself. For the sake of doing something. For the sake of moving and getting himself out of the panic.

Liam can't find the remote control when he's there. And he doesn't know why he's doing this. The static bothers him. Shoving his hands into the cracks of the sofa to look for the remote is making him even more skittish. Crying while doing all of this makes him feel like an idiot. He gets down on the floor and looks under the couch. Taps his hand in all the dust and dirt, reaches in deep for something. Everything keeps being a bad idea. His actions aren't making sense. He makes himself cry more as he feels the person that's become of himself.

_"A white horse-drawn hearse led mourners from Wolverhampton to St Peter's Church to say their last goodbye to the young man murdered earlier this month."_

Liam snaps his head back to see that the TV is broadcasting a channel again. It's the news. With wide eyes he stumbles to get back up on his feet, looking up at the screen.

_"The victim, twenty-two year old Liam Payne, was studying to become a nurse in the University of Sheffield, but had dreams of becoming a singer since he was a little boy."_

Like a knife jammed into his chest. Liam's body is at a standstill, frozen on the floor where he's crouched.

_"Friends and family described him as a kind, generous, and happy lad with big plans for the future."_

Niall appears on the screen with sunglasses and a black button down shirt. He crosses his arms and looks to the ground as he talks. _"'Liam was just the most selfless person you could possibly imagine. He never did anything bad to anybody, always wanted to do the right thing. You couldn't get him to break the rules,'"_ he laughs fondly. _"'He always wanted to help people and do right by everyone. You know, there wasn't anything he wouldn't do for you.'"_

"W-What is... Wh—"

 _"'H-He was just... you were the luckiest person to have him as a friend.'"_ Niall licks his lips and then looks up at the reporter out of shot. _"'And it just feels unbelievable, you know? That something so terrible could happen to someone so good, and someone so happy that you just, knew and loved so much. And it makes you angry and it makes you sad...'"_ his voice cracks, his stoic face turning red as he gives a shrug as if to write it off. _"'It makes you really, really sad... It's not fair...'"_

Liam was just talking to him. This isn't real. Is this a joke? A mistake? That mistake he was thinking of? Did they really take him for dead? It's true. "No." His head pulses a wave down the back of his neck. Tears run down his cheeks quietly. His body quivers as he stays on the floor, looking up helplessly at the TV as a photo of him and Louis fades into frame. A couples selfie. One Liam took and posted on his Instagram.

_"'On the night of July 3rd, Liam Payne and his boyfriend of six years, Louis Tomlinson, arrived at their shared flat when they were attacked by three armed men looking to steal Liam's car, a 2008 Lamborghini Gallardo valued at an estimated £90,000.'"_

This isn't about the flood. "No we— No..."

_"'But things took a fatal turn. Liam received three gunshot wounds before the suspects fled the scene in the car. He was pronounced dead on the scene when paramedics arrived.'"_

His heart stops.

"No... no," he whispers softly as he shakes his head. He's so quiet and calm. He won't let himself panic. He won't believe this. This isn't real. "No." He stumbles to his feet only to fall down again, panting in grunts when he finds that his body won't work right. And Liam sinks down onto the floor with eyes closed. "I'm n-not dead..." His words fall like a feather, his tone marking his shame in his own doubt. Liam is a sane enough person to know none of this is real. That's what he should be saying with a dry face. "This isn't real." Because he wants to prove his own sanity, he wants to challenge the horror that engulfs his body and _deny_ it. _Deny_ it.

_"One of the three suspects is currently in police custody, but the other two are still at large."_

The report goes on, with Liam trying not to remember what it felt like to be himself when he woke up today. Did he wake up today? _This is just a dream. I'm dreaming. This is a dream. This whole day's just a dream._ In his anxiety-ridden month-long grief he landed himself in a lucid, horrible, nightmare sometime in the middle of the night. Any moment he'll wake up. He pinches himself and scratches himself and slaps himself in the face until he's red and hurting.

_"An ongoing investigation continues regarding the events that occurred that night, with police now alleging that the truth might be contrary to their initial reports."_

A police officer speaks. _"'Mr. Tomlinson told us that he did not know the men that attacked him and his partner.'"_

Liam snaps his head up and turns to look to the TV screen with wide, fire red eyes. A video of Louis plays as the voice of the police officer goes on. A muted interview from the channel on the front steps of his flat. Wearing a tank top—

'with grey sweatpants tucked into his socks. The fact Liam can tell he isn't wearing underwear makes him sad and blue again.'

July 19. Just nine days ago.

_"'However based on new witness testimonies we now have reason to believe that both he and victim did in fact know the three suspects who attacked them on the night of July 3rd. But we can't release further details at this time.'"_

_"'Would you consider Louis Tomlinson a suspect in the murder of Liam Payne?'"_

"What?" Liam chokes out a deep sob he couldn't stand to keep inside.

_"'As we said, this is an ongoing investigation and we shall be informing the public of any new developments. But at this moment there's nothing more we can share.'"_

_"Among the hundreds of mourners in attendance at the funeral, Louis Tomlinson was not one of them. According to his family he was too emotionally distraught to join the crowd as they paid their respects."_ Four white horses carry a wooden hearse with a white coffin inside stacked with white lillies. Behind them a crowd in black follows with idle steps as they look to the ground. Liam recognizes their faces. His friends, his family, the neighbors that watched him grow. He recognizes his hometown. The streets he played in when he was child and rode his bike through on his way to school. His face is burning, his vision blurry, his throat dry with nausea. It cuts to inside the St Peter's church where he was baptized, where his parents married, where his sister married just a few months ago. A choir sings and the rows of people keep their heads down. Liam is hyperventilating, his eyes now aching from the crying. _"Just as they were once a community united by Liam's good deeds, now they were brought together in grief."_

And he can't breathe when he sees his mother standing on a podium, sobbing. That's when he feels his world die, and his body come alive with horror.

_"'Someone we have loved has died."_

"This isn't r... real this i-isn't real this isn't real..." Liam sobs uncontrollably. Pictures he took of himself. Pictures when he was little.

_"Someone special to us. Precious. Irreplaceable. We know that there are no words we can say at this moment to express what we are feeling. No words can alleviate our sorrow or take a way our pain."_

Liam drops his head and shuts his eyes as he cries violently. His body trembles, a devastating pain collapsing his insides as he slams his hand on the floor over and over. And he cries. And cries. And cries.

_"So we come today simply to bring you the grief , the shock, the pain, the emptiness, the anger, the despair, which overwhelms us—'"_

Liam turns his head up to see that the screen has turned black. Behind him he hears a thud on the couch. When he looks back he sees the remote control bouncing on the sofa. And when he looks up he sees Louis walking away out of the living room.

"Louis!" He cries out as he pushes himself off the floor weakly. The ground feels like it's sinking, the world spinning. Following Louis, he finds himself tripping behind him as Louis paces further and further away. His heart racing and shaking and making him wish it wouldn't exist at all. Watching Louis run away from him is breaking it into pieces. "Louis w-what's going on?!" he babbles, sobbing like a child. "Please please, Louis...! _Louis!_ "

And Louis stops. Liam finds himself stopping, too. And he doesn't know why. Distance; six feet apart. Liam sounds like a lost little boy crying in a store because he's lost his parents. He wants to find them. He wants to go home. Louis feels like a stranger walking by him in a crowd of apathy. The air feels toxic in Liam's lungs. His body feels like a nightmare. "Was that real?" he whimpers, and feels himself wilting when he says it. It's too real to be a dream, too logical to be madness. Madness doesn't follow a timeframe and neither does an unconscious imagination running in circles on a pillowcase. Memories lost. Histories rewritten when Liam wasn't looking. And when Louis turns around to face him it's like the shards of his shattered heart are burying themselves into the soil. Out of fear. It's like Liam doesn't recognize his face. He sniffs, his breath coming out in quick gasps. "W-What's going on, Lou?"

Louis knows. As he turns around and walks back to Liam's direction, Liam can see it on his face. And he starts to cry again with his head to the ground. Rubbing his hand over his shoulder because he's scared. He's never been so scared. Scared of Louis.

And when Liam looks up again he sees that Louis is walking straight towards him slowly, just a few steps away now. Not a word comes out of him.

"What did you do?"

Louis walks right through his body. Liam watches him disappear into his chest until he's gone. And he cries out horrified as he brings his hands to his chest. He's solid. He turns around. And Louis is walking away. Liam can't breathe.

_"Louis!"_

He runs over to him and reaches out to grab the back of his shirt.

Only for his hand to reach inside his body and grab at nothing. Transparency. Nonexistence.

Liam feels his chest collapse and his breath leave his lungs. The world dies into a deaf pitch until he can't hear himself scream anymore. There isn't a thought he could ever bring himself to form. To comprehend. His body has shut down and diminished into a hollow vessel and he beats down on the floor just to feel. He needs to make noise. He needs to hear the world.

Liam is dead.

" _No!_ " In silence.

His life gone. His family gone. Everything gone. Buried under the dirt while his spirit drifts in an infinite limbo. Nothing but energy passing through a fantasy of the life he knew. Stuck.

" _No!!_ "

Forever.

"I'm not dead! I'm not dead!! _I'm not dead!!_ "

Liam hears his voice for the first time, his heavy, twisted breathing as he stumbles to his feet. Louis is looking out the window with his phone pressed to his ear with a smile as he talks. But there's no sound. The world is still quiet. _It's all in my head. It's all in my head._ His thoughts come like weak whirls of wind with no direction. His brown eyes wide and lined with angry red, his short hair a mess from how much he's pulled at it. Liam looks down at his arms and he sees his tattoos moving and twirling on his skin. He turns away fast and looks to the door. The front door. The door leading outside.

Outside.

There's still no sound when Liam runs out and jumps into the flood. No splashes, wind, or noisy rainfall. Just Liam and the sound of his choked screams as he's taken away in the water. It's sickening. The current pulls him under, and he floats and spins in circles as he's washed away. _Somewhere_. Liam's going to find out just where that is. Because he can't be dead. He won't let himself believe it. There's life, there's consciousness, there's breath, the fear of dying— he's a real human being and he wants to live. So he fights through it as he swims with his lungs ready to burst from how long he's been holding his breath. He makes it to the surface finally; flapping his arms and kicking his legs to keep his head above water as he gasps. _Breathe. Stay alive._

Liam tries to see around him at where the flood has taken him. Rain keeps hitting his eyes and it doesn't even feel like water without the sound. He can't see anything through the dense rainfall. His blinking only makes it worse until all he sees is the creamy, foggy grey. _Where am I?_ Liam desperately tries to flip himself around to see at a different angle. But it's the same sight. He cries out in frustration for not being able to see. He's growing tired with every yank underwater he has to swim himself out of. Liam reaches his hand up from under the flood and wipes at his eyes and then tries to look again. More blinking, his chin up as he pants. And that's when he suddenly sees.

Louis's flat passing him by to his right. And after that, nothing. The building becomes a fog after the second floor. Liam turns himself around to look behind him and he sees that

everything else

is fog.

There's no world. That nebulous beige grey murk, that horrible dead fog— that's all there is. Liam can't breathe. His eyes look madly around him at the sky, at the everything around him as he flaps and splashes in the water. There's nothing but a nowhere surrounding him. The house he saw across the street has disappeared. The road, the buildings, the cars, the trees—

There is nothing.

Until Liam floats by Louis's flat again.

And again.

And again.

The horror sends his body into a panic and he forgets how to swim. Liam finds himself sinking underwater with scarce air left in his lungs. Desperately he tries to swim up, only to go on peacefully floating down. Can he die if he's dead? Liam looks around and realizes that there's no street submerged underwater. What lies below the flood that ran through the neighborhood is an infinite, empty vast as big as the ocean and twice as black as the universe. But Liam can still see his hands perfectly. It's black but not dark. There's no setting, no place— Only time.

_Three._

Time running out as Liam's air supply withers away. And he's squirming and kicking in that horrible, horrible silence, looking up to see that there isn't sight of water running over him anymore. There's nothing anymore.

_Two_

He takes a breath full of water.

_One._

And he's in the purest state of nonexistence in the universe.

_Zero._

 

  
"Smells like puke."

"What?"

"You don't smell it?"

"No."

"Sorry I didn't mean it like— I mean it smells nice in here. It doesn't smell bad. Your apartment is nice. Wait, what do you call it in Britain? Flack?"

"Flat."

The guy laughs. "Flat." He's American. "It's still weird for me. You know I'm still trying to—" A loud bang startles him and cuts his sentence short. "Oh shit. What was that?"

"I don't know."

"It's just us, right?"

"Yeah..." Louis smirks when American guy reaches out to play with his shirt. Still, looking out the hallway he decides, "I'm gonna go check. Just wait here," before leaving the room.

The front door is where the sound came from. Louis could tell right away. He stands in front of it some feet away from just outside the hallway. The door is wide open, the dusking day showing from between the neighborhood buildings. And from the very entrance of the door is a trail of water that spreads four feet. Louis walks over to the front door and closes it, careful not to get his socks wet. They do anyway. "Shit."

"Woah what's that?"

Louis looks up and sees it's American guy who's wandered his way. "Water."

"I can see that," he smiles. Not a great smile. His strongest feature is his jawline, which is square and symettrical. His next nicest feature are his eyes, which are big and brown. He's a bit of a giant, nicely sculpted, and dressed decent. Preppy, you could say. Louis makes for a stark contrast. "Wheeere did the water come from...?" He looks up to the ceiling.

"I don't know."

American guy nods, his eyes landing on the knick knacks Louis keeps at a little table by the door. He reaches for a picture frame and smirks. "Who's this?"

Louis walks over to take a closer look. "Oh," he says. "That's my ex. He doesn't live here."

American guy purses his lips, cocks his brow. "Are you sure?"

Louis assures him with a small nod and a smile. "We broke up last month. Let me just... take that," he giggles as he reaches for the framed picture of him and Liam in black and white, taken from a trip to France. He throws it in a corner by the door and American guy laughs at the brilliant indifference.

"I mean I don't want him walking in on us with a bat."

"Trust me he's not coming back," he says with a little smile like he's sleepy.

"What was he like?"

"Annoying."

American guy laughs and eagerly follows Louis back into the guest bedroom. They stand there for a while, the door halfway closed. American guy shifts awkwardly with his hands in his pockets, watching Louis tap down at his phone. The door creaks behind him and he quickly turns to look, watching it knock lightly against the wall. He fidgets for a while as he scans the floor next. Sniffs. And then he says it.

"Dude, honestly I _do_ not mean to be rude, right... but like, seriously, you don't have any air freshener?"

"What?"

"It smells like puke. Seriously."

Louis shakes his head with a shrug, putting his phone back in his pocket. "I don't smell anything."

"It legit smells like vomit. I don't know who puked but somebody did. Like, I have no tolerance for that smell. Unless you want me to puke all over you when I'm fucking you."

"Really know how to set the mood."

"Hey, I didn't make the room smell like vomit."

"Well I didn't either. This isn't even me bedroom. This is the guest one."

" _Me bedroom,_ " American guy mocks Louis with a soft giggle. "You say 'me' instead of 'my'. Have you noticed?"

A tired smile creeps on Louis's face. "It's the accent."

"I love your accent. It's hot."

"Thanks, mate."

"'Mate'," he giggles as he walks over to Louis and presses himself against him. "I like that." Hands on his waist.

"Okay."

American guy cranes his neck down to kiss Louis's neck, and Louis sort of nuzzles into his chest. Louis fingers pull at the hem of American guy's shirt and that's all he does. Just pull down. American guy is feeling him up and running his fingers down his back and under his tank top. Louis's eyes are open and wobbling up and down like he can't decide on what to do.

"You are _baked_." It's not the sexiest thing he could kiss into Louis's neck. He could tell Louis was high already, and he'd texted him about it earlier. But he finds it fun to feel just how faded he is under his touch.

Louis mumbles as he turns his head away from every single one, "You know you're— you're right,"

"What?"

He meagerly moves himself away from American guy's embrace until he's free and able to back away. "It smells."

American guy chuckles, not sure what to think as he watches Louis head for the door. "Where are you going?"

Louis makes spraying sounds, holding out one hand to mimic the spray of an air freshener can before opening the door open and stumbling out of the room.

American guy isn't hard. He didn't get the chance. He takes a seat on the edge of the bed with a sigh. There's one bed and no more furniture beyond that. There's five boxes scattered around the room with varying levels of fullness. No effort. It isn't a very warm-looking place despite being intended for guests. Suddenly the air feels...

Complicated.

There's a lot going on. American guy's brow is tense as he throws glances over his shoulder before looking at the open door, and then back over his shoulder again. It's quiet. "Louis?" he calls out expecting a distant echoed reply. But nothing comes. He sighs unsatisfied and restless. The smell of vomit makes him sniff and scrunch his nose. It smells fresh and he's paranoid about someone lurking around. He gives another sigh. Taps his knee on the floor before kicking off his Vans shoes.

Something creaks behind him. He looks. Nothing. Down at the floor. There's something. He crawls over on the bed and outstretches his neck to look down. It's a broken phone. The screen is shattered and the back cover is gone. There's a tiny dent in the wall. American Guy quickly moves backwards to his original spot on the edge of the bed. Another glance to the door. One over his shoulder again.

Someone grabs his knee.

He looks.

No one's there.

"Sshhit!" he hisses as he jumps off the bed. His brown eyes are wide as he looks around all over. The room feels heavy, burdened. He mouths, "What the fuck," as he reaches his hand down to rub his knee, trying to get rid of the sensation left behind. A creepy feeling. He groans with a frown as if to say, 'I don't like this.' Awful apprehension. Chills run up his spine. He wonders where Louis is and looks out into the hall. He hears footsteps, relieved Louis is there. "What's taking you so long?" No answer. American guy purses his lips and takes a seat back on the bed to take off his clothes. Top first; a dark blue Hollister henley.

The shirt is pulled halfway over his head

when he feels the fabric suddenly yanked down his stomach.

"Wo-oh _sh-shit!_ " He draws in a sharp yelp and jumps off the bed again, quickly trying to pull his shirt up and off his head. He's thrashing, scared that he can't see anything. The shirt finally comes off. His breathing is heavy as he backs away against the wall, his thick brows come together for a wide eyed and petrified frown. He heads for the open door.

But it slams shut in his face.

"Louis?!" American guy hands grab the doorknob. Locked. "W-What the _fuck_...!" He looks down and sees that the door is locked from the inside. He twists the little button to the left, but before his eyes it twists back to the other side all on its own. "Louis! Louis open the door! Open the fucking door, asshole!" He screams as he slams his fist on the door. A hand slaps his bare back and he cries out in pain with a sharp turn of his head to look behind him. There's no one there. His eyes are watering, his body trembling. A horrible crash comes right next to his face on the door. American guy stumbles backwards and trips over the phone that was in the middle of the floor. Someone threw it at him. And missed.

American guy screams as the cardboard boxes in the room are kicked over one by one like dominoes. The walls begin to thud over and over, closer and closer until they're right by his face. _Bang bang bang bang!_ The horror is enough he pisses himself. American guy's face contorts as he begins to sob uncontrollably, wiggling the door handle over and over and over. The button for the lock won't move. Everything bangs and flies across the room by itself. He's hit with shoes, books and even papers. And he shrinks himself into insignificance, sliding down the wall and until he's sitting on the floor crying and curled into a ball. There's no one. No one there.

Until it stops.

American guy hyperventilates, his mouth agape as he looks around the room gone quiet. The mess, the obvious evidence of a human scorned. The message is clear. Without another thought he tries for the door knob one more time. It's open.

He runs away shirtless and barefoot and never looks back.

Louis forgot about American guy. Michael was his name. It doesn't matter. He sighs peacefully as he lies placid on his pillow, taking another drag from his fresh new blunt. By now it won't matter either when the locked doorknob eventually wiggles and the whole door begins to bang. Louis's so soaked in alcohol and weed that a pair of headphones playing house music is all it takes for him to fade into another round of red-eyed repose. Barely blinks. The banging door is just a banging door, as it always is. Nothing for him to do about it, nothing for him to care about. Just another nothing that never means anything.

No one can hear Liam screaming at the top of his lungs as he bangs his fist on the door. Screaming his pain and his grief from the deepest depths of his stomach, from the darkest place inside himself he can reach. No one will ever hear him. No one will ever see him again. His story is finished and he missed the bus stop to the epilogue.

It's Louis he wants at the receiving end of his retribution. It's Louis he wants to hurt and torment. For not caring. For ditching his funeral and bringing some guy over to fuck instead. Liam hates him so much it hurts beyond imagination. There's nothing he can do, nor anything he could ever do. This is it. This is the endless end he's been abandoned in. And he doesn't even know how. If it was the argument about the ticket the police gave him that started it all. If it was Louis.

"It's all your fault! This is _all your fault!!_ "

All Liam can think about is what he'll never have again. The life he'll never live. His parents, his sisters, his friends. He'll never go to school, never marry, have kids, travel the world, go home. Everything is gone and it isn't fair. Liam died. He died on July 3rd. _Murder_.Now he knows what it means to be a ghost behind white sheets and shackled at the ankles. To moan and groan and slam doors and linger around. To be angry and invisible, grieving the most devastating and unimaginable loss in every fictitious breath taken in and out. Liam is sliding down to the floor, crying against the door as the product of an unrealized rest. He's nothing at all. Failed passing. Dreams unrealized and bridges burned too soon without consent. To swell with the need to punish, only to empty again in the face of answers forever unknown. Meaningless. He wants to object as violently as he can to everything that he is. That he's _here_. That he's _angry_. Liam feels it all. To lose.

"I wanna go _home!!_ "

To hurt.

" ** _I hate you!!_** "

To haunt.


	4. Dance of Limbo

_"It's such a nice day out. It's been raining so much this month. I was beginning to think it was like that Japanese myth where the sun goes into the cave and vows never to come out."_

_"You know about everything."_

_"Not by a long shot. **But** , I do try to keep an open mind and you'd be surprised what finds its way in there."_

_"That's what Leslie Burk says. She told me to keep my mind wide open."_

_"Leslie Burk is right. A mind like yours wide open? You could create a whole new world."_

Bridge to Terabithia plays routine and placid in the every afternoon of every day. No one is ever watching. The room is clean and quiet even with the sound blasting from the TV's speakers. And that's common— routine, placid.

Common, routine, placid.

Common, routine, placid.

Life is fine. September came about and the air is getting cold. The neighborhood is empty again now that summer vacation has reached its most appreciated dusk. There's peace and quiet— when the eight-year-old named Jason who lives next door isn't out in the street at night. He's always screaming about movies with his older brothers, who never pay attention to his elementary affairs. Thus the screaming. _"We're gonna watch the... the cars! Those Fast and Furious movies with the cars, lads! I'm turning eight, and so's Fast and Furious! I'm gonna be fast and **furious**! I'm **furious** lads!!"_ A sharp slap heard on the street, and the eldest, Nick, would be heard. _"Oi! What'd I fucking say?!"_ Fast 8, April 14, 2017. Boys always like fast cars. By then the winter should be thawed away into spring time; blossom time, tank-tops-and-shorts time. It could be late, though. Most will remember not to count on the weather staying true to its respective season. Not with the planet dying beneath them.

On April 13, 2014 the winter was overstaying its welcome. Louis always hated the cold and got grumpy when he shivered. Restless; he was a small, strong frame and he didn't get that way by sitting around and watching a white winter powder the world. He also just hated being cold. And when things fell out of his control. Louis doesn't plan often but when he does it's always for sports. An outdoorsman; can never stay still. Springtime's plans for football and poolside swimming were spoiled that spring. He was stuck indoors with only Liam to keep him company. And he had to ask and push thereafter to make him stay. Bribed him, too.

Liam didn't have a TV in his flat. So Louis would buy Blu Ray action movies just so Liam had something to look forward to on the days he paid begrudging visit, for those days he didn't really want to be with Louis; busy as a bee with school, and Louis just bored, he thought. But needy is what Louis really was in the rare days when his land was barren, and free time meant he was damned to an unnervingly hollow time to be him— unexpectedly; moving furniture to find a rotting patch of wood. And that didn't feel so bad on its own. Louis had an uncanny talent for dodging quandary, for managing whatever plights came swinging at those very points in time— whether they were peaceful or self-destructive methods was another thing. But Liam was as good as it could get. Waiting out winter in solitude wasn't that terrible of a prospect until the chance to be with his boyfriend came to mind. Then it was terrible. And once Liam was there, then it was the near-death experience that Louis would look back on with chills. Overwhelming moments of need. And vulnerability. It was out of character.

Liam never came to know about any of them. He would watch The Transporter 2 in HD quality until he wasn't angry about ditching class to keep Louis company anymore. The moment of redemption: Louis shivering, Liam giving him his Pac-Man bomber jacket two sizes too big, Louis melting in the heat of that heavy-scented jacket, and afterwards falling asleep nestled against Liam on the couch. That was heaven twofold. God glowed great and all behind the clouds, but Louis was the higher plane of a wishing star blinking in the vast and iridescent infinity of the universe. All over a jacket, over a cuddle, over a fuck— because they did fuck when Louis woke up. Right on that very couch, right when Jason Statham drove his black Audi off a roof and into a parking deck.

"You're fucking big, Li..."

And Liam grinned into Louis's neck while kissing his skin, snapping his hips forward harder as he fucked into him. Louis's body rocked backwards against the arm of the sofa, and he would've been pushed off from the force if Liam didn't have his arms hooked under his armpits and over his shoulders. Kept him in place, right where they both wanted.

Louis was limp and glassy-eyed as he jacked himself off, blissed out and feeling like a rag-doll as Liam's cock thrust between his legs. Submissive, subdued— less than himself, for a change. "Mmh faster, faster... Come on..." Because he was greedy and he knew Liam could go the distance. A prompt, a suggestion. Liam liked getting told what to do because he loved proving he could do it all. He lifted himself up until his body was upright, and he pushed Louis's fat thighs back to spread him out nice and obscene. That endless, dutiful stamina; Louis tucked his flushed face into his shoulder with eyes shut tight when Liam gave him what he wanted. "T-That's it... That's it...!" Louis's voice cracked and he couldn't bring himself to speak a word anymore. His fringe damp, his cheeks red. He lost himself in the longest distance Liam pushed him to, the longest distance he asked for. Louis's body gave out again until all he could think about was Liam's fat dick inside him and his balls slapping against his skin.

And all Liam could do was groan and keep going. Red-faced and working up a sweat. He was always serving and always basking in the glorious reward of the things he did. With one hand on Louis's thigh he slid he other hand under his little shirt to caress over the warm flush of his skin. Louis ran his palm over Liam's arm and down his wrist until he had his trembling hand over his, right where his heart was. And that was it— that was the reward. "I love you so much..." Dropping his weight forward to kiss Louis, tasting his moans as he hugged his waist and fucked him harder. "I love you so m-much baby... love you so s-so m...much..."

They agreed to move in together that same night. Louis stayed with his shirt and Liam's jacket on, which he would later be forced to return for once. Louis was always stealing Liam's clothes like a sneaky little creature and sleeping in them without a word until Liam would say, _"Hey is that my..."_ with rarely any consequence carried out. Louis kept the shirts, kept the hats— kept the underwear too but Liam never got to know about that. The vintage bomber jacket with the classic Pac-Man cartoon in the back was Louis's favorite.

Liam died in that one.

It's cold when Louis walks into the living room. The TV is loud and he couldn't focus on making proper measurements for his pancake mix while he was in the kitchen. It's too late for pancakes. He'd been ignoring the TV for a while ever since it turned on a few hours ago. At a glance Louis can see that the remote control isn't on the floor, or on the coffee table with a lone snow globe on it. It's not on top of the sofa cushions either. Louis digs his hands in between them to grab around for any touch of hard plastic. Nothing. He lifts each cushion up to find only crumbled papers and lint. His tired eyes squint before he gives a resigned sigh. When he turns around he finds himself resigning again, this time on a deeper scale. He sees.

The remote control is on the coffee table.

Louis catches himself staring at it for a while before rubbing his eyes with a turn of his head. And then he reaches down to grab it, shutting off the TV with the press of a button before throwing the remote onto the couch where it bounces off to the floor. And he's walking away.

_"We thought you were dead!"_

_"Dead?"_

When the television turns on again. Louis is only halfway out when he turns his head to look back.

_"Your friend Leslie is dead. She drowned in a creek this morning. Apparently she tried to swing across on the rope and it broke. They think she hit her head."_

_"No it... No i-it's—It's not that kind of rope. I-It— It couldn't break... It wouldn't have..."_

The Eiffel Tower snow globe on the coffee table is smashed on the floor. But Louis has left outside to have a smoke by the time that happens.

_"But it did... I'm sorry, son."_

Liam looks down at the mess. The glitter and snow inside the water that's spilled all over the floor flickers under the light. The Eiffel Tower snapped in half, the glass that encased it shattered. Liam's hand is gashed open and bleeding free. He looks at it with a mellow pout, and focuses in his eyes when he squeezes to watch the blood pour out onto the wood and into Paris. Rubs his hand into it all in a crimson mix of glitter and glass. And it's grotesque, and it's terrible.

_"No you're lying."_

But it's gone in a blink that Liam never catches until he's left with the memory of something that never happened. The floor is clean, his hand is fine. Liam looks to the coffee table, to the snow globe. He picks it up and shakes it until it's snowing over the Eiffel Tower again. Louis could see this if he walked in. But not the fall. The snow globe only broke in a one-time playback in Liam's realm. The parallel one that's always fleeting in place. Some illusion whose mystery becomes unremarkable in its frequence and persistent lack of variety. So profoundly blasé. Surfeiting even its most sensitive host.

_"She's not even dead! You're lying!"_

_Jess runs over to Leslie's house only to find policemen parked on the front yard. Realizing his best friend is dead, he runs into his bedroom, slams the door shut, and puts his dresser against the door to make sure no one comes in. He then desperately looks for his sketchbook, and flips it open to a drawing of Leslie. And he's sad. And he's shocked. And he's heartbroken._

"Louis never did that."

Liam never knows if it's Bridge to Terabithia that Louis sees when he goes to turn off the TV every afternoon. He found out early on that not everything he does actually happens in real life, and when it does it often only marks itself at a halfway point in reality. Liam could pull out a cereal box and make himself something to eat, but when Louis walks in he'll only see the cereal box on the kitchen counter and an open cabinet door. Liam leaves every door open. Louis always sees those. Doors are the easiest thing to make real. Almost everything else is left to chance, and chance always gives that jaded variation. And with Louis dedicated to living indifferently, it's hard for Liam to know if something isn't working or if it's just Louis ignoring it.

Sometimes when Louis gets up in the morning he wakes up to find his bedroom door closed and locked from the inside. When he's eating he might turn around because he thought heard a noise, and then look back to find his fork gone. The TV might be on. The oven might be off when he'd left it to cook a meal. Louis might go looking for something, and then find it in a place he knows was empty when he looked just seconds ago. Things go missing all the time. But the truth is, it's a daily routine no different from the one Louis had grown accustomed to since the day Liam died. Liam doesn't know that. He hopes Louis is losing his mind, a bit. Psychological warfare— but that's glorifying it. The reality is that the course of action manifested on its own as a product of scarcity, and a simple lack of passion.

Liam never got to make anything violent happen again the way it did on the night of July 29, when he let his rage bite at the man Louis brought over to fuck the day of his funeral. He figures it must've been a one-time occurrence. He was disappointed again to find that he wasn't even angry the next morning. His emotions fade quickly in this place— Liam's place. He quiets and dies down into a peaceful default always. The way it'd always been, where he was angry at Louis but got over it in the almost immediate aftermath. It wasn't being attached to Louis, it wasn't being pathetically incapable of being a grown adult about a break-up. Liam is just living on loop; recycling the phantasm he's been collecting in Louis's flat to make for a heap of granulated past spent and spent again with no change in mass. He is, in essence, the most worthless state of being in the universe. And prone to forgiving, it seems. Discarding hard feelings is a thing of the energy left behind. There isn't much to hold onto, then. Liam's nature prevents it. Dead man who forgot to go. Everything is a transcendent and nonsensical fragment of time that comes and goes and spins without reason. A wedge; the place between here and there where no one is meant to stay and nothing is meant to be. This is God's forgotten crawlspace. Maybe Liam should've held Him in higher regard. Stars always die.

This isn't a world meant for anything to happen. The word is:

Limbo.

At least purgatory has a purpose. Liam will do the same thing every day and not know it, sometimes. And then he goes back to being self-aware without memory of ever relapsing into the belief that it's July 5, or July 21, or July 13. But with his phone missing, time isn't a tangible thing anymore. That's made things worse. Memories, timeframes and emotions shuffle around aimlessly and without reason, making Liam live in a muddled mess of himself until he's back to what he now knows of his life as a _ghost_.

A ghost. Liam doesn't feel like one. He doesn't remember what it was like to ever feel alive. He torments Louis for the sake of grasping an immediate satisfaction that wanes just as fast. It wasn't that fast before, back when he felt more times than not. Soon it won't be worth the reach anymore. This dead man wishes he'd never found out he was dead. It was the snow globe shattered. It might've never been a real world in there but at least it looked nice. Liam doesn't even remember what a blue sky looks like with the endless storm outside. The storm— Liam doesn't know what that's all about. It's just the glass encasing him in a world that snows when you shake it— except his rains.

Louis doesn't shake things up much. He's an invariable living in his own limbo. Wearing the same clothes, doing the same things. It never seems to reach a point of any kind. His hair grows longer and that's about the only way time makes its mark on him. Liam hopes it's because he's depressed, because if he isn't then the man just doesn't give a damn the love of his life was murdered.

_"'Would you consider Louis Tomlinson a suspect in the murder of Liam Payne?'"_

But that doesn't carry the same buzz anymore as it did the first time. The first time, Liam tried to remember ghost movie plots so he could form a plan to find his peace. There was an adventure just steps away from manifesting, and Liam was ready to take the leap. But he only got to asking why before he went to sleep and forgot to care the next day. There isn't enough drive for a state of longing to stick. There's no material to magnify his concern, his passion, his ambition to do anything worth while. Now Liam knows why ghosts stay lurking for centuries. Why they get lost, why they never find peace— they stop looking. _Wouldn't that be something, if Louis really did murder me._ Except it isn't something. It isn't anything. Nothing ever is. Nothing is all Liam is left with. There isn't even an anyone except Louis.

"You watching static, bro?!"

"Haven't paid the TV yet!"

Liam's jolt sends him stumbling forward onto the floor as he tries to crawl away. He looks at the couch and goes rigid, nauseous, as if he's watched a whole landscape detonate into flames. He stands up on his feet with more grace in his execution than before. But that's just the way shock takes control of his bones and forces him into a melting point. And then, those few steps taken forward— it feels like the wind is behind him, like if he weighed nothing at all. It's after step number 4 that Liam has to stop himself with a dizzy gasp. Wide eyed, lips parting as bends his back down to look closer and this is as close as he can get. As close as he'll let himself get to

Niall,

who lazily pokes around the sofa for the remote control so he can turn off the TV. The remote is still on the floor, so while Niall isn't looking Liam turns it off himself. "Oop— It turned off by itself!" Niall lifts his ass off the sofa to see if that wasn't his doing. It wasn't. So he lounges with a recline and takes off his golf cap. A reply from Louis doesn't come this time.

This is the first time Liam has seen Niall since he died. He forgot so well— there are real people outside of Louis's flat. They can come as they please. They can taunt Liam with the life he's lost and never know he's watching. He feels sick and squeezed at the stomach with every sharp breath he takes in. A part of him reenacts a dream sequence where he doesn't know any better, where he walks up to Niall with a grin on his face, a hand held out and the other positioned for a hug for that big greeting. The one that says, 'Mate, I've fucking missed you!' and comes with another hug back, another good vibe to envelop him in a relieved, 'Oh man, I've missed you too.' Only this one doesn't say anything at all; to trip straight to the couch without even feeling the mirage of a human being he's just passed through. That's exactly what happened, and exactly what rewinded back to Liam standing in place. And Liam remembers that. The raw energy of a living soul overwhelms him like light ripping through a dark room and he can't believe that's happening. "Oh man..." he whimpers. His eyes water and his skin crawls like he's only human enough to live through bad things. This perennial place— desolate. Too much rain on dry land just floods it all.

"I saw that pancake box," Niall calls out before mumbling to himself, "You sure about that..."

"I heard that!"

Niall laughs. He looks around the living room while Louis is off somewhere Liam didn't catch onto. Liam looks at the empty seat next to him and wonders if he should sit down. If Niall feels him then good. If he doesn't then that's fine. "What difference does it make." Liam doesn't know why he tries to be quiet when taking a seat. "I'm dead..." he finds himself murmuring with a tight throat, waving his hands in front of Niall's face like if he was trying his luck with Louis back in July. _Whoopi Goldberg, Christina Ricci_ , he thinks childishly, _Ghosts have always got a friend who can see them_. It's admirable that he can be so flawed, still. Anything to undo his spiritual inversion. "N... Niall..." He calls out for him boldly, softly. "You're my best friend." _You used to be._ "I used to be..." Nothing. Liam doesn't realize he's talking. "Niall." And he taps the sofa, scratches it to make noise. It's nothing at all. Liam's afraid of becoming desperate and upset. "I'm just.... I'm just dead." Make that normal, make it trivial and alright as if it's always been this way as he places his hands over his lap. "I'm dead." Like he was never alive. Like this is all he's known. For moments at a time he's forgetting he's dead before they boomerang right back, and he's living through it all over again in quick shots. This is the first time he's felt any of this. And he wasn't prepared. It feels awful, like his head will fall apart into pieces.

"Here."

"Ah! Thanks, Louis."

Liam hurriedly scatters away from the sofa until he's standing a few feet away again. Louis takes Liam's spot on the couch as he drops something into Niall's hand.

"You didn't have to go all the way into your room for this but, okay," Niall laughs as he eyes a safety pin between his fingers.

"It was like, right outside me room. On the floor, actually. You can't have that little button missing there," Louis mumbles with a flick given to Niall's polo shirt. There's three buttons that go there. Button number two is missing, and there's an unsightly gap that throws the outfit off— or so Louis told him on the sidewalk, when Niall caught him in a surprise visit. "Unprofessional, that is."

Niall chuckles, doubled chin as he tries put the safety pin to use on his shirt. "So what's up, what have you been up to? Been a long time since I've seen you."

" _What have you been up to?_ " Liam mocks. That sounds so lighthearted.

"Yeah. I mean..." Louis sighs and crosses his legs on the couch. "I've just been chilling out to be honest with you. I haven't been up to much."

" _I haven't been up to much_ ," Liam mocks out loud again in a bad Yorkshire accent. " _Oh, I've just been fucking people on me boyfriend's funeral. Not like it matters. Who cares. Hahaha. He's dead._ " Cynical. More human deviations as he grows frustrated in his role as an invisible.

"Oh."

"I'm guessing you went bowling," Louis says for jokes, knowing Niall's got his sharpest golfing outfit on.

"Bowling." It's such a stupid joke and Niall laughs. "Yeah. Yeah, _bowling_."

"Rolling that big ball through the hills. Love that. It's like a caveman."

Giggling, "What? Shut up."

Liam feels like he's watching a movie play out and he wants to change the channel. That's his boyfriend and that's his best friend. But they're neither, anymore. And Liam's dead. No one cares. He huffs out a deep breath and walks to the window as he rocks his weight side to side to shake it all off. "Was I that fucking annoying..." That's a sad thought. "Bloody hell.."

"Oh shit, wait. Where'd I leave the bag?"

"On the counter. I'll get it."

"Quit leaving me alone."

Liam doesn't see it, but Niall is throwing quick looks around the living room. Specifically where Liam is standing, where the curtains sway gently with no cause. Niall can be neurotic so he's particularly distressed. Something's got him tense. But just slightly. Enough to make him lean back against the couch as if to distance himself from danger.

"Here we are." There's the sound of a plastic bag and a gentle thump. "What's all this shit, Niall?"

Liam turns around in curiosity. It's a white plastic bag with what looks like papers and a few cardboard boxes inside. He walks over to take a closer look, but keeps his distance without meaning too. Arms crossed.

Niall grabs the bag and gives it a stern shake. "Look what Santa brought for you." He places it on Louis's lap.

"Oh, it's for me." Louis pretends to be excited, now knowing what's inside as he digs his hand inside.

"Your mum wanted me to pick your mail up for you. Since you won't."

"Oh so that's where the mail was." Liam finds himself contributing to the conversation despite the impossibility of a reply. Though he's used to it— being ignored in crowds of friends. It almost serves to get his momentum going. Like old times. How pathetic.

Niall watches Louis dig through his letters. He takes one look at the senders before dropping them back in the pile one by one. "I reckon your like, bills are there," Niall tells him. "You been paying rent and all that?" And he looks concerned, Liam notices. So long as Louis is looking down at his mail and not Niall's face.

"Yeah I paid everything else."

"How?" Liam scoffs.

"Don't worry about it, it's not like I'm broke."

Niall nods. "Well, you know, try to pick up your mail every once in a while."

"Thank you Postman Pat."

Liam laughs out loud. Postman Pat, the claymation children's show they give on BBC about a man named Pat and his mediocre adventures as a postman, featuring his cat Jess. How stupid. That's the first time Liam has laughed at one of Louis's jokes. It suddenly hurts knowing they'll never laugh together again. Without meaning to he kicks the table with his shin and hisses.

Louis and Niall both go silent as they turn their heads. Louis looks away disinterested, while Niall's eyes quickly shift around the room. "Why did the table move?"

"It was me."

Niall narrows his eyes as he blinks down at Louis's crossed legs, and then back up at him with a sigh. Louis shrugs and looks back down into his bag with a chuckle. Liam feels nervous. He doesn't want to scare Niall away. That's a new feeling.

"You know, most of this is just like, advertisements. What do you call 'em... _newsletters_. Look, Macy's had a summer sale. _Summer_ sale, can you believe that? I'm just getting this now."

Niall catches onto Louis changing the subject so he plays along. "Did you notice my outfit?"

"Yeah you look sharp, mate."

Liam wonders how outfit changes work regarding himself; where the clothes he picks out from the closet go if they go anywhere at all. He remembers shaving but not when, and when he touches his face he finds it scruffy like always. His brown hair quiffed back nice. Doesn't remember doing that either now that he thinks about it. Looking down at his body he sees his hairy legs and thighs. "Ah." He remembers he's wearing boxers and a tight tank top. He'd hate to meet Niall in this, normally. And he feels the same insecurity now. What he'd give to have Niall laugh at him. What he'd give to feel embarrassed for real.

But right now he just wishes someone would mention him. Because Niall and Louis are acting like he never existed. It's only been a few months. People don't move on that quickly. _Why haven't they talked about me yet? Why aren't they sad?_ Liam is frowning, looking down at the ground as he's forced to sit through more light chatter.

"There was like, a competition."

"Yeah?"

"A golfing tournament."

"I see."

"But I-I didn't play. I didn't play. I was just hanging around."

"Got dressed for nothing then, yeah?" Louis places the bag on the coffee table before slouching into the couch.

"No, I look good. People saw me. What more can you ask for, right?" Niall chuckles.

"You're a good looking chap."

He's got a big head, and a big neck, too. He's growing dense, strong and solid. Blue eyes, pointed nose, and a great brown stubble growing in around his jaw. Niall has the kind of features that make him look noble like a Labrador or a Golden Retriever. Or any kind of Celtic protagonist. "Oh." Liam frowns. Niall will get old and he won't. Liam doesn't mean to whimper when he scratches his head but he does. And it doesn't feel right.

"Now with that safety pin... Now that's an upgrade."

Niall flicks it. "It's great jewelry."

"Now you look proper _gangsta_ ," Louis gives that sly, mocking grin as he nods slow. Eyes squinted. His jawline looks nice this way. "A rebel. Watch the fuck _out_ , this bloke's missing a _button_." Drops the act with a light snicker. "How did you lose that button, anyway? How the fuck does that happen. I thought you just bought that."

"It fucking snapped off the first time I put tucked it in, is what happened. Would you believe that? Unbelievable."

"No, I wouldn't. I only buy the highest quality goods and services." And Louis holds out his fingers to count passionately, "Adidas, Zumiez—"

"The weed socks and nebulas store."

"Uh... Vans... uh... fucking Domino's, fucking Burger King, fucking... Wall's Ice Cream..."

"Have you tried the Oreo ones?"

"What. No."

"Been meaning to get me some."

"The good one is—"

There's a sudden loud bang like it came from the floor. Like someone stepped down hard. Niall's anxious again, brow furrowed as he sits up straight and shifts in his seat. Alert. "Jesus what was that?"

"Why are you freaking out," Louis laughs. "Something probably just fell."

"How?"

"Things fall, I don't know."

The curtain moves, the rings on the pipe making for a sharp, quick hiss.

"Y-Your curtain just moved?"

"What do you want me to do."

"Nothing I didn't—" Niall chortles, scratching his face nervously as he tries to relax into the couch again. He doesn't know what to say. "I didn't say anything."

Liam is disappointed to know that after smashing the snow globe on the floor, kicking the coffee table, jumping on the ground, and banging on the windows, that only a single thump and a curtain drawn is what made it through to the other side. Angry, he stomps on the floor again like a child, with clenched fists and a shout let out. Panting hard. It's the first time he's been angry in a long, long time. He feels warm, rubbing his face with a grimace. Warm...

"Listen uh.... how've you been about uh... like, uh..."

"What?"

"I mean... Liam and stuff."

Liam turns his head quick, his breathing held in time. "Yes." He walks over as if to take a better seat, and stares hard at Louis's face. He shifts his weight side to side on his feet, clenching his fists and letting it loose over and over. "Yeah. Yeah _me_." Concentrated and dense with energy. Swallows.

Louis nods and then gives a shrug. "What about him?"

"You piece of shit," Liam whispers behind gritted teeth.

"I don't know, bro. You been okay?" Niall is so friendly and easygoing about it. His eyebrows are perched a bit high and his tone is as clear as he can make it. "That's all."

"Why wouldn't I be. It's nothing."

Liam's brow comes together tight as he crouches over the couch and places his fists on the cushion, right through Louis's stomach. His face is inches from his in a violent, dead rage. He's breathing hard through his nose. And Niall tells Louis passively, "It kind of really isn't... at all, actually. It's definitely not... nothing... Louis."

Louis slouches back into cushion as his face falls. Annoyed, though not very much. He tries to be polite and smiles through a whine. "Oh gimme a break, Niall...You just got here. Don't turn everything to shit."

Niall tries not to be rude, either. "What did I say that's so bad?"

"Just shut the fuck up."

"Okay. Have you got a beer?"

" _Fuck!_ " Liam slams his hand right through Louis's face and hits the cushion behind his head. Another change of subject. He's discarded so easily again. "For fuck's _sake_!! What's wrong with the both of you?!" he sobs in painful helplessness. The real world spins beautifully without him and he can't touch it at all. He was a part of it. He had a place in it.

"We only serve tea in this household, sir." Louis laughs quietly as he hurries into the kitchen. Liam watches him leave behind teary eyes. "That's right. A good ol' cuppa." From the kitchen Niall doesn't hear him say. "Oh shit, I haven't made any..."

Because Niall has checked himself out of the present for a moment. Liam frowns. Niall's face has fallen into heavy misery as he props his elbows on his thighs. He rubs over his face deep and slow with a big, heavy sigh. Eyes cast down at the ground and head in his hand, tapping his foot away at the wooden floor. Liam feels how his soul's shifted into an icy, shallow breeze. He has to wipe his eyes and take a better look. But Niall pushes it all away when he hears Louis coming back. It's like flipping a switch and he's sitting up with an unnerving flashing of a smile. "Ah, thank you." Beer in his hand now. Budweiser. Niall can't pop the thing open quick enough.

"You know, you really gotta get around to liking tea if you're gonna be living in Britain."

Niall stops, licks his lips, and gives a quiet 'ah'. "I drink it to be courteous."

"Oh so you're not courteous with me?" Louis teases. "Alright."

And Niall laughs. "You didn't offer!"

Everything seems fine now and now Liam knows it isn't. Niall's a liar and Liam doesn't know why. "What are you doing?" he begs with pleading eyes.

"I was gonna ask you if you think you're gonna go out there swerving and driving all woozy now. But then I remembered you're Irish."

"With one can of beer? I could pass my driving test after like... five."

"Sorry we don't make the heavy stuff here."

"Where do you keep your heavy stuff?"

It's a prying question that carries an implication and Liam can see that it bothers Louis. Snarky, he says, "What are you talking about Niall? You know I don't drink."

Niall sighs. "Yep." And takes another sip.

"I have to get back to clubbing. It's fucking boring here."

He nods and then laughs. "Remember Liam at the club, uh... when we were in—"

Louis kicks the coffee table with a sharp bang. The letter bag falls, the Paris snow globe shatters on the ground, and the illusion of the small world between them falls apart from Louis's side. Niall gives a jump and stares wide-eyed as he storms away. Even Liam is startled, watching Louis get up off the couch and pace into the kitchen. The first time Liam's seen him angry. The first time Liam's felt him alive.

"What?!" Niall chases after him. Liam follows."What the fuck did I _say_?! Louis!" He grabs the back of Louis's shirt to stop him, and Louis yanks his shoulder back and slaps Niall's hand away.

"Don't fucking touch me."

"Louis."

"Get out."

Niall can only think of words too tall for him to reach, and too heavy to fly steady past his lips without crashing. He isn't the man for this and Liam can tell. Niall is upset and concerned beyond what he knows is fair to himself. And Liam watches as he stands between their altercation just a few feet away. He thought he'd be more pleased over the drama concerning him but he isn't. _What's going on?_ He feels fear in his belly. This could mean anything or it could be nothing at all. Liam feels his humanity reaching past the surface and he wasn't ready to handle the weight. Life could be anything. It could mean anything. It could mean nothing.

Because Louis blew up from dormancy, but he's already quieted down cold again. His eyes have gone dark and tired like before. He paces to the front door and swings it open without a word spent, without a glance spared. Outside Liam can only see the storm and it looks like Louis is sending Niall to his death. And Liam turns to look at Niall, who swallows something he doesn't deserve. "Okay fine," he murmurs in a gentle resign.

"Don't go." Liam stays in place, knowing it's no good if he went after Niall. If he tried. He's helpless like a child. "Niall, don't— Don't go..."

But Niall is already outside at the entrance of the building. And Louis hasn't spoken a word. The door is closing just before Liam sees it stop. Because Niall said,

"I'm not—"

before Louis had to stop and see what he had to say. Liam's walking over to see what's going on.

"You know, I care about you," he hears Niall say. Can't help but find it brave and that doesn't make sense. Liam tries to peel the layers of his own logic. He hasn't made sense to himself in a while. Optimism says he'll find a clue stuck to his pages. Because why has Niall been the first person to visit Louis since Liam died? Niall makes it sound like he's the only one standing by his side. "A lot of people do." What reason would Louis have not to think so? Why would people hate him? "You know, I'm trying. It's not easy." _Going against the current? Sympathizing with the murderer?_ Liam's thinking so much he feels tired. "I'm not... the bad guy here."

"That's cos I am," Louis whispers behind a shattered, cruel gaze that Niall breaks away from in resignation. And then suddenly as he looks up, the color from his face is flushed away. Wide-eyed, a sharp breath drawn in. Niall sees Liam standing behind Louis. And Liam feels a spark in a place he's never had it before.

Looking into the eyes of the living.

And knowing they're looking right back.

Before Louis shuts the door in Niall's face and leaves.

"Niall!" But when Liam opens the door, the entrance to their flat is empty and all there is is the faux storm that keeps him prisoner away from the world. Blinded and masked. This could be a punishment. It just might. And Liam can only feel emptiness as he looks on into the very essence of his death. The _endless_ pouring of water down an _endless_ flowing stream that leads a grey nowhere. Liam slides down the doorframe until he's sitting on the floor with his head rested against the wooden panel. And he just breathes. For the first time in a long time Liam is conscious of the fact that he's always breathing. And his heart is always beating. Why would he do that, still? Liam almost feels like he's real all over again.

 

  
When Liam was little he had the habit of locking himself in his closet to cry. Every weekday up to secondary school was a near constant torrent of bullying coming just about anyone older him. _Guess everyone's just always hated me. Shit._ They told Liam he was aggravating. That he had the kind of face they just wanted to beat in, and that when they heard his voice they would get the most violent headaches and their firsts would clench unconsciously. There was the issue with his crying— where he cried all the time over an unjustifiably bad grade, a tie undone, a simple trip down onto the floor. Thinking about it now, Liam figures it didn't help that his mother always babied him right in that very closet, and assured him that he should always live honestly and bravely no matter what. That was so Disney. Someone should've been there to tell him the world is terrible and that he should learn to throw punches. But he only got around to boxing classes when he was nineteen years old and he's never put them to use. Never would have, even if he hadn't died. He was crying and sticking up for people who didn't deserve it and whining and taking things too seriously— all his life. Was; past tense.

If Liam thinks about it that way, then anyone could've shot him three times. There's no other motive. He has no inheritance, no insurance. Just enemies by the dozens including his ex. And all fingers point to him. Liam lets that feel comical. Louis the woman scorned in a TV novela. He did think Liam wanted to break up with him to be with someone else. And he just can't seem to stand the thought of Liam at all even though he's dead. Their last encounter together was a heated argument, after all.

_"I'm this close to bashing your fucking head into the steering wheel, I swear to God. If you don't shut the fuck up..."_

That's not very nice. _Did I ever get to shutting up?_ he wonders. Things were racing down a dark alley that night, that stormy night. Liam doesn't know if he has the capacity to murder, himself— that is, killing Louis in order to avenge his death. The consequences can't be worse than being dead already. Except maybe dealing with Louis's ghost stranded in limbo alongside him. Then it would really be hell. Isn't that what it's like already? But if Liam really did believe Louis murdered him he would be doing something much worse than kicking over the boxes Louis had finally organized so perfectly in the guest room. Louis shooting him dead isn't a palpable feeling, memory, or otherwise possible concept to him. Things don't feel as bad as they should. A little petty, peeved and, above all, lively after Niall's visit, Liam is in a pleasant place. There's energy keeping him moving and motivation to serve as a source of satisfaction.

He _wants_ to do something _bad_.

Old-fashioned haunting. Revenge, essentially. He hadn't done that in a while. The only playground available on the property— what else is he supposed to do about Louis not caring that he's dead? About blacklisting him as topic, and kicking Niall out for having the nerve to make mention of his existence? "Whatever," he kicks over the last box of three, and gives it more kicks so the contents come pouring out more. It's all Liam's things. He's been casually digging around all three boxes for something when he needs it. Three out of four times it'll disappear back to its original spot in the box where Louis buried it. Clean-up is a breeze. But then that's where his concern spawns. Nothing about these boxes ever translates into a real thing. He doesn't seem to have power over them. Liam purses his lips, stops kicking. He looks around and nothing's rewinded into reality yet. Maybe it's just late. Liam groans at the idea of his time wasted. Tipped over boxes probably won't scare Louis anyway. Liam ventures into Louis's bedroom to brainstorm a more devilish approach to torment. A more imaginative way.

"Woah."

But when he gets there, he finds that Louis's room is already a hellhole.

"What a fucking mess..." Liam doesn't remember it being this bad. There's clothes, hats, papers, shoes, leftovers, a bong, a pile of books, hair products leaned against an acoustic guitar, water bottles, beer cans, a tupperwear container of weed, an empty bottle of vodka, and a dirty ashtray— that he can see. From a distance. It's impossibly crowded. It smells ugly and Liam grimaces. Normally he would clean this all up like the good housewife his mother raised him to be, but he decides to leave Louis to suffer in his own nest of filth. He kicks the beer cans and throws the water bottles around to make noise, to see if Louis will hear from wherever he is. It's nightfall already so maybe he's watching TV on the couch, or sleeping on it. "Wakey wakey!" Liam smashes a plate against the wall and watches it shatter, laughing at his own mischief when he looks at the stain of food on the wall and the pieces of porcelain sprinkled on Louis's pillow. "Shit." He giggles while running over to brush the shards off. That beats the point. But Liam just wanted to make noise.

Noise. He likes the idea of that. Immediately he directs his attention to Louis's radio sitting atop a lone speaker placed against the wall.

"Good idea, good idea." Liam kicks aside junk until he has floor space to crouch down on to get Louis's precious CD case from under his bed. He flips each page by, pulling out disks to examine the cover before sending them flying across the room. And it feels good to do something so terrible, so hurtful. "Asshole," he says with every album flipped into the air. And then he sees one in particular. His own handwriting scribbled in Sharpie on a blank CD. "Mum's Jams..." he whispers. A mixtape he made for his mother. Liam remembers he'd lost it and didn't know where he put it. "Did you steal this from me, you little shit?" He swallows when his voice cracks, uncharacteristically so. And he becomes nauseous. His mothe— "No." Liam throws the disk back over his shoulder and goes back to flipping the pages with a trembling hand and suddenly blurry vision. He settles with Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not by Arctic Monkeys because the picture of the ashtray as the disk cover seemed fitting. After dropping the CD case onto the bed he walks over to the radio. "'Power on.' Alright." Pushes in the CD. Turns the volume up as high as he can and takes a seat back on the bed. Now he waits.

Drums and a guitar blast loud for a punk rock tune. That classic enthusiasm is noisy and annoying, and delivers Liam's retribution perfectly. "Oh man!" he laughs as he brings his hands to his ears and looks over to the open bedroom door. He waits for Louis prove he can hear it. Soon a man begins to garble on,

 _"Anticipation has the habit to set you up_  
_For disappointment in evening entertainment but_  
_Tonight there'll be some love_  
_Tonight there'll be a rawkus, regardless of what's gone before_

 _"I want to see all of the things that we've already seen_  
_The lairy girls hung out the window of the limousine_  
_And of course its fancy dress_  
_And they're all looking quite full on_  
_In bunny ears and devil horns"_

"What the fuck!"

Liam is cackling for the first time in what feels like a lifetime. He watches Louis desperately stumble through his dirty bedroom to make it to the radio. Once there the first thing he does is press the eject button and examine the CD. And he sends confused but not quite terrified looks around the room, from the door to around the stereo. Liam makes cartoon ghost noises to amuse himself. "That was me~" He knocks his heels against the bed frame and he knows Louis hears it when he sees his shoulders give a startled jump. He smiles, but Louis doesn't turn around. His back tells Liam that he's calming himself down. And the rush fades from Liam, too. The satisfaction didn't last. This wasn't very fun.

Bitterly, he pushes Louis's CD case off the bed and finds comfort in Louis's distress. Not enough. Louis bends down to his CD case without a word. "When are you gonna scream?" Liam's voice is low as he kicks his foot through Louis's face. Eyes growing darker, face falling flat as he watches Louis flip through the pages. "What are you thinking?" Louis stands up with a disk in his hands and walks to the radio. "Why don't you care about me you fucking psycopath?!" Liam grabs a plate and lifts his arm to lunge it like a good ghost, but grimaces in defeat as he lets it drop back down on his lap. He touches over the dirty plate as he pants, letting the food get all over him because it isn't real. None of this matters. "Why don't you fucking care..."

 _"I was following the_  
_I was following the_  
_I was following the_  
_I was following the"_

A harmony of men sing on in a folky echo. Liam's eyes come alive as he looks up at Louis; the back of his head, his unmoving frame in front of the radio as it plays a new song. A different disk. This song comes back to Liam in a seven year old replay, realer than anything he's ever seen.

"Tell me if you like this one, Liam."

It's Louis in his high school uniform. Same stereo his step-dad gave him when he was a kid. But he's standing in his old bedroom. Liam looks around, and remembers every detail as it's born before him.

 _"I was following the_  
_I was following the_  
_I was following the_  
_I was following the"_

A tambourine and an acoustic guitar join. "Yeah this one sounds better than the last one," he tells Louis as he scratches his forehead through his fringe. He tries to keep his eyes unfocused, his mind clear the way he imagines Louis— or anyone cool— does when he listens to his music.

 _"I was following the pack all swaddled in their coats_  
_With scarves of red tied around their throats_  
_To keep their little heads_  
_From falling in the snow_  
_And I turned around and there you go_  
_And Michael you would fall_  
_And turn the white snow red as strawberries in the summertime"_

A bass drum joins, the tempo increases— and the song comes alive. Liam laughs, "This one should've been the opening song."

"Yeah, the first one's sort of..." Louis turns around to face Liam as they go on with their discussion. "I mean it's not bad, right? But it's not the really sort of song they should've opened up the album to. This one's the best. Hands down. I don't know why they made it song number 2."

White Winter Hymnal by The Fleet Foxes. It does have a pleasant ring to it all said together. But either alone sounds nice, too. "It's really from different from what I listen to."

"What do you listen to?"

Liam regrets prompting the topic. _Not The Fleet Foxes and Neutral Milk Hotel—that's for sure._ He has yet to hear anything remotely resembling Leona Lewis out of Louis's CD collection. He can't help but want to impress Louis, or at least save himself from mockery if he says he can't stop listening to Thinking of You by Katy Perry. "Um... Kid Rock... actually. That song that's like, ' _sipping whiskey out the bottle, not thinking 'bout tomorrow. Singing Sweet home Alabama all summer long~_ ' Although that was like, a few years ago." Kid Rock is cool, Kid Rock's a rebel.

"Kid Rock's alright."

That means he doesn't like it. Liam sighs quietly. He doesn't know why, still, after all these years he finds himself worrying about Louis not liking him. It might have to do with his constantly crumbling self confidence. It was doing alright in spite of all the backlash he's been getting lately from a growing attachment to Louis. Being a 3rd year means the bullies that taunted him as a child have grown up and flown away to university, meaning only the 4th year students are left to look down on him. But there's a weak point that's been bypassed inside himself and its gotten to his foundations, spreading like disease. It's not fair. Liam isn't sure what to do except lie and apologize for being himself around everyone he cares about most. The sentiment doesn't depend on anything at all— it isn't choosy. Liam just feels so small.

 _"I was following the pack all swaddled in their coats_  
_With scarves of red tied around their throats_  
_To keep their little heads_  
_From falling in the snow_  
_And I turned around and there you go_  
_And Michael you would fall_  
_And turn the white snow red as strawberries in the summertime"_

"The lyrics are quite nice," he says to start up conversation again. "Is that all they're saying? Is the same thing?"

"In this song, yeah."

 _"I was following the pack all swaddled in their coats_  
_With scarves of red tied around their throats"_

And to Liam's delight Louis sings the rest.

"To keep their little heads  
From falling in the snow  
And I turned around and there you go  
And Michael you would fall  
And turn the white snow red as strawberries in the summertime."

Louis's is a soft and fragile singing voice that's sweet and raw; rainfall running down a leaf, the hush of a shallow creek running downstream. "You sing really good." Liam looks to him with a smile. It isn't the first time he's heard him sing. With all the CD's Louis buys it's no wonder he has. But Louis thinks Liam is a much better singer, so he refrains from exercising his indie vocals in front of Mr. Perfect R&B Range in unadmitted embarrassment.

"Shut up," he chuckles quietly as he picks at the peeling lettering of his stereo to seem preoccupied. White Winter Hymnal plays on as it falls into an instrumental solo. The same symphony of a bass drum, an acoustic guitar and a tambourine drive the song onward for that joyful, warm ambiance. And it is a nice song to listen to with Louis. Just the sound of his voice going along with it makes Liam prone to round edges and stupid grins. Louis is no different, though his reasons are a little more complicated. Not as different from Liam's as he thinks. "You don't have to kiss me ass, Liam. I don't bully you anymore, remember?"

Liam smiles with the shake of his head. "I know you're blushing over there, Tommo." He doesn't. But he likes the idea and teases him anyway.

Louis glances back at Liam over his shoulder. Red as a beet. And he isn't pleased about it. But he gives Liam the satisfaction, followed by the flash of his middle finger.

"Oh I knew it!" Liam laughs and runs over to Louis. He makes noise, slapping his feet on the shiny wooden floor to make sure Louis won't be startled when he snakes his arms around his tiny waist. It's the first time he's held Louis like this and he didn't realize until he felt Louis warm against his chest and got shivers. He forgets to say anything at all. Louis drops his head back a little against him and Liam blushes dark red. Stammering a quiet, "Heheh... Y-You're small."

And the song ends.

Liam blinks down to see that his arms are inside Louis, and so is a little bit of his chest. He gasps and jumps backwards fast. The junk all over the floor makes him trip and sends him falling backwards onto Louis's bed. He feels embarrassed and tired.

Liam's never felt a memory so real like that. He can't help but bring his hand to his chest. The back of his head throbs, his eyesight going blurry again. The memory's cameo feels more like drowning in that limbo's river outside again. He's angry thinking about why Louis would play that song and let him live through that past. _It's just coincidence it doesn't mean anything_ , he thinks. Louis stands in front of his radio still and Liam looks away. "No..." Louis didn't feel a thing at all. Liam should leave.

But a clarinet begins to play. Sad, folky, soulful.

"Like a forest crying..." And that's Liam quoting a memory in the smallest voice he can, his eyes cast down at the floor. Flushed with feeling, he feels like a heavier person.

 _"She left a week to roam_  
_Your protector's coming home_  
_Keep your secrets with you, girl_  
_Safe from the outside world"_

And he looks up at Louis, wishing he could be resentful. Because he feels like he's being taunted and wronged when he doesn't even exist. _Stop making this happen for no reason_ — a thought like that. Louis is being deliberate and the suggestion alone is making Liam's skin crawl. This isn't even the next song Louis is letting play. It's track number 8, he still remembers. He skipped over the others just to get to this one. This song is stamped into Liam's bones and he knows Louis has it marked, too. Standing there _still_ , standing there _distant_ — Louis _knows_ what this song means. Liam wants to throw the radio to the floor and cast a monstrous rage to send Louis away from their room— Louis's room but he won't correct himself. He's hurt and gripping at the hem of his own boxers as he glares angrily at Louis. Lying to himself as he thinks,

Louis doesn't love him enough to play this song.

 _"You walk along the stream_  
_Your head caught in a waking dream_  
_Your protector's coming home_  
_Coming home"_

He doesn't love him enough to remember.

 _"As you lay to die beside me baby_  
_On the morning that you came_  
_Would you wait for me?_  
_The other one would wait for me"_

May 4, 2009.

"Oooh I like this song. It's quite sad it sounds like a forest crying or something. Like a mountain song... or something. A sad... mountain fawn. Or bear."

"A sad bear?" Louis laughs and notes sarcastically, "That's clever."

Liam looks at the back of the CD case and reads over the tracklist again. "Your Protector is this one, yeah?"

"Yeah."

Then back at the cover. Fleet Foxes by The Fleet Foxes. The cover features some strange Renaissance-looking painting that Liam finds is ill-suited for the theme. There should be foxes and a forest, at least. You can't put foxes in the band and album name and not show any on the cover.

 _"You run with the devil_  
_You run with the devil"_

"What's the song about? Louis."

"Yeah?"

"Do you know what the song's about?"

"Uh... No, actually. Never really looked into it."

Liam places the album on Louis's bed before rolling over the mattress and lying on his back. He stretches with the wiggle of his toes. School was long and busy today, and particularly hot, too. That called for a shower when he got home on account of getting smelly. Liam's always too afraid to take off his blazer or undo his tie in school, so he faces the suffering head on. Louis never shows concern for dress codes. For every time Liam caught sight of Louis in perfect uniform while roaming the halls, there was always another when Louis had his tie undone and his shirt untucked. When school was over he would strip down to his undershirt before even leaving the school gates. Didn't care when teachers stopped him. Sometimes he'd have them chasing him right out into the sidewalk where they were powerless to administer any consequences. Louis's always had balls. But being a 4th year left back, he's prone to caring about everything even less.

 _"Tell your brother to be good_  
_Tell your sister not to go_  
_Tell your mother not to wait_  
_Tell your father I was good"_

"How can you not look into the lyrics of your favorite song?" Liam turns his head up to look down at Louis, who's on his knees reorganizing his bookshelf after a trip to the bookstore made him the owner of new comic books and thriller novels. He's preoccupied and it shows.

"I don't know."

Liam purses his lips and lifts himself off the bed to walk over. "Hey," he pokes his head.

"What?"

He feels needy because he wants the attention Louis isn't giving him. Or perhaps spoiled for feeling entitled to it. With eyes going soft he looks like a puppy, pushing his side-swept bangs out of his eyes as he looks down. "There's this website that tells you the meanings of literally every song ever in existence. It's quite interesting, do you want me to show you?" _Come on, hang out with me._ "We can look up this song."

"Uh..." Louis stops what he's doing and Liam is pleased. "I'd have to use me mum's computer, cos mine's just absolutely _busted_. The screen's literally ripped apart." Louis holds out his hand so Liam will pull him right up to his feet. And he starts walking away towards the bedroom door en route to the living room, with Liam following close behind.

"Mate, that's the second one this year."

"It was a shit computer. Toshiba. What as I thinking..."

Liam and Louis were lucky that day, because Louis's mother had left with his sisters Lottie, Fizzy, Daisy and Phoebe to meet up with a friend of hers at a salon for a little ladies' day out. Louis was spared from sitting in the waiting area choking on the cloud of blowdried chemicals. Besides, he had to keep the guest company. So Louis and Liam have settled in the living room according to plan. It's a small and chaotic living space, what with the belongings of four girls ages five to eleven scattered around. And then there's Louis's things, and then there's his mother's things. But he and Liam will clean it all before she gets back.

"How do you write that?" Louis asks after settling himself into his mother's computer chair. A sleek Dell desktop decorates the wooden table, along with stationary and framed photos of Louis and his sisters. Like if it were an office cubicle only messier.

"Songmeanings.com. What do you mean 'how do you write it'?"

"What, it's not spelled some quirky way?"

"No, just songmeanings.com. Like that."

"Alright..." One by one he presses the keyboard buttons with his index fingers.

"Just let me write it..."

" _No_."

"It's just— You just type so slow." Liam is forced to stand behind Louis, hands on his thighs to keep himself as he looks at the screen. Pouting.

Song Meanings is where users can upload the lyrics of whatever song they like, and afterwards share their interpretation of the song. Some were so kind as to include the quote from the artist themselves, when available. But most times people were just guessing. Liam couldn't help but always look up songs he liked, or even the ones he didn't like but sounded interesting. Most of the time Louis finds Liam's webpage discoveries boring, but since this regards one of Louis's favorite songs he hopes the outcome will be different this time. _No yawning, please._

The page loaded. "Now write 'your protector fleet foxes' in the uh, search bar. Or whatever song you want."

" _The_ Fleet Foxes."

"It doesn't matter, Louis."

"Yes it does." He writes 'Your Protector by The Fleet Foxes', capitalized and all. Ironic he's insisting on spelling everything so perfectly when he's the one writing gibberish on his Bebo account. In a mouse click the lyrics for Your Protector appear. Liam instructs Louis to scroll down to the comments section where the interpretations are. "Alright, here we are." Louis goes quiet as he reads the screen. His hooded eyes squint a bit. Maybe he needs glasses.

"Read it out loud."

"Can you not read, Liam?"

"I wanna feel involved," he whines.

Louis mocks him in a high voice, " _Involved_ ~" with a chuckle. "Fucking baby."

"You read better than me." That's true.

" _It's a song about a resistance fighter_ ," Louis starts to read, " _told from the viewpoint of his lover who has a premonition of his death. The girl and her family are living under an occupation but are sympathetic to the resistance- hence the need_ — who the fuck comes up with this shit?" he laughs as he turns to Liam. "Like, how is this legit?"

Liam smacks his shoulder, displeased Louis isn't taking the website as seriously as he'd hoped. "Come on, give it a chance! Just keep reading. They're interesting, I promise."

"Sounds like rubbish."

"Louis—"

" _The girl and her family are living under an occupation but are sympathetic to the resistance- hence the need to 'keep your secrets with you...safe from the outside world' and 'you run with the devil.' In the dream, she is there with him when he is killed. The resistance fighter tells her what she needs to tell her various family members: 'tell your sister not to go (looking for me),' 'tell your mother not to wait (for me),' 'tell your father I was good._

" _She's gone to look for him 'she left a week to roam.' The resistance fighter is coming home to her as a dream since he can't come back physically and telling her to go home_. Okay, that's it." Louis is finished reading the comment and leans back in his chair. "Yeah. Okay." And he sounds unimpressed.

Liam is annoyed. "Well that sounds cool!" And defensive. He doesn't know why he's so desperate to insist the website is entertaining. "Doesn't it sound interesting? It sounds quite interesting."

"What are you, co-owner of this website?" Louis teases him with the rotating of his mother's swivel chair and his head turns up at Liam. "Is it like a book club for songs?"

"You're always making fun of me." Liam is only half joking when he rolls his eyes and carries himself to the couch.

"Don't get moody on me now, Princess Payne." Louis sends his chair soaring across the room on its wheels. His aim wasn't perfect so he has to pull himself on his feet until he's by Liam's side on the couch. Liam's lying down with his arms crossed, sulking like the fifteen-year-old child he is. Sixteen in a few months. Then he'll be Louis's age. Baby-faced and skinny, both of them. Though, however immature and insensitive Louis may come across, there's wiseness that comes from being the eldest of the family and the only boy. Self-appointed man of the house by pressure of some unspoken culture. Louis is good at knowing when to lower his voice and straighten his back. Sitting before his sensitive friend with the hurt feelings— now seems like a good time.

"Right, well..." Louis looks around the room brainstorming. "Okay, I mean what— ...What do you get from it or whatever, Liam? I didn't really get it. The song meaning or whatever." He tries to make amends, if that's what this is called.

"That's because you weren't paying attention."

"...Admittedly," he chuckles. "But I'm trying. Come on."

Liam turns his head to Louis and sighs. "Alright." He thinks about the song for a while and tries to remember the lyrics again. Your Protector plays in his head all over again to refresh his memory. And he explains to Louis, "I mean... so like this guy's a soldier, yeah? Well he's died right in front of his girlfriend and the song's basically about his girlfriend or whatever sort of imagining that he does 'come home' after she had to leave him. And that she'll wait for him. Or is like, I suppose imagining that he's asking her to. Like, she's just imagining, you know? He died next to her and she had to leave him behind, and so now he's telling her all these things. Like, tell your brother to be good, tell your sister not to uh... like, go looking for me, tell your mum not to wait for me to come home, tell your dad I was good."

That's the best phrasing Liam could manage. He's satisfied enough. If Louis doesn't care about any of that then he's decided he'll give up and help Louis organize his bookshelf as a means of bonding. It's all he ever wants. Liam feels like he can never be close enough to Louis.

"So yeah, that's what the song's about, I reckon."

"That's you."

"What?" Liam asks. "What is?"

Louis gets up from the office chair and takes a seat at the edge of the couch where Liam is. His ass presses against Liam's hip and Liam tries not to notice. "That sounds like something you'd do."

"What? Die?" Liam snorts.

"Die and say something comforting and romantic and completely heartbreaking at the same time." Louis's voice sounds lovely when he's quiet. It almost feels like a spell, how oddly dreamy he is when the laddy lad of him is put aside.

 _Are we that close?_ he asks himself out of insecurity again. Two years— of course they are. "So then you'd wait for me to come home?" And Liam doesn't know what he means by that. He shifts his gaze from the ceiling to Louis again, whose body is twisted to face him. Even though he looks at the wall.

"If by that you mean lose my mind then... probably," he says with the blink of his gaze back to Liam. "Or just... you know... lay to die beside you," he assures him.

Liam smiles. "Aw." And then he furrows his brow to give a sorry laugh. "Wait no, don't say that." He doesn't know what the right thing to say is. "Why are we talking about this?"

"Because I care about you."

Liam's heart is racing and it makes him sweaty. The naturally curly texture of his hair is coming through his straightened fringe. "I care about you too." He does. And with his expectations low he convinces himself this isn't going anywhere.

But then Louis leans over and plants one hand beside Liam's head on the couch. _Oh my God, he's so fit._ So close. Louis looks real elvish. And real cool. With the longest lashes. Their personal space subtracts in a paceless countdown.

Five. "I think I care about you... more than you know."

Four. Liam's eyes are wide and pathetically transfixed. Mumbling, "Well tell me I wanna know."

Three. "How much I care about you?" Two. "And how much you mean to me?"

One. "Yeah."

Louis presses his lips to Liam's for a single teen romance trope's climax. It always starts that way. Friends to something more with a spontaneous kiss shared. Louis doesn't want to admit he watches that many PG movies to know. And Liam didn't want to get his hopes up, and actually admit this was the fantasy projecting in his head for days, for months. And forever from now on. He doesn't think he'll ever want anything more than another chapter of this cheesy trope again.

"Is that alright?" Louis smiles when he draws his head back.

"Is what? Oh!" Liam grins. "Kissing me? Yeah, it's more than alright! It's great! You're a— you— you're just phenomenal kisser." He's embarrassed he's rambling so he laughs. Louis's stroking his hair out of his forehead and he knows he's getting it ugly and he's giddy, won't shut up. "Wow. Y-You snog alot of girls?" _Jesus, shut up._

"I'm not about to tell you all me secrets. You'll know them on your deathbed."

It smells again.

Liam's back in the present again.

Louis turned off the radio, and is leaving.

He's going.

He's gone.

Everything is gone.

Liam can taste Louis's lips. He swallows and gives a big sigh. "That didn't happen..." It did. Just not know. Liam is trying to make himself understand. But it's hard when he felt what it was like to fall in love with Louis when they were kids. That feels cruel. This all does, when he remembers now how he has nothing. Liam feels like a sopping wet rag dropped to the floor. There is no timeline of which to make progress. There. Stuck. Picked up and dropped and left with a growing puddle of dirty used dishwater that leaks from within itself. Dirty dishwater— that's a good way to put it. This; a senseless sentencing of fixed time. The present is a filthy bedroom. The future is a horrible hurricane.

But the past is encased in glass. And it can shower the worst with glitter and snow in just a single shake; memory that's settled on he floor coming alive in swirls sent around a glass sphere. Liam didn't know he had the power to do that until today. And he isn't in his right mind at all. He only knows how to miss Louis when he's inside a crystal ball, repeating himself in some immortalized beauty. It's hard to do anything but reach out his hand and wish he could touch into that world. What a colorful memory just played before him. So hard to be angry— all over again. There's nothing worse than when he wants to forgive. It feels insincere because he doesn't know what he wants to forgive Louis for. But Fleet Foxes and Song Meanings maps things out before Liam's eyes. It reminds him of Louis's humanity. And it tells him that the product of Louis's depression is what he's sitting in. So then, 

"See, he really does care. H-He's conflicted. He's just... he's just like that. Won't tell you stuff." He's talking to himself because sometimes he's afraid he'll forget how to. But his tongue doesn't decide on what he ends up projecting. "I miss you so much." Liam shifts on the mattress, his toes digging into some dirty clothes. "What's the point of that..." He looks around Louis's room. Louis— this is all Louis. He's here but he isn't.

Does he ever want to leave?

_What's gotten into me..._

"That's okay," he shrugs with pathetically curved up brow. He spares sympathy to a wasted cause.

And that seems alright.

"Louis!" Liam walks through Louis's trash until he's out the door and into the hall. "Louis!" He calls out with a clarity that spares him the taste of a life left behind. It feels like delusional hysteria he's been suppressing, where he can feel himself living and he can feel himself as part a place that doesn't want him. "Louis, I— Where are you..." He looks around until he's in the kitchen. And that's where he finds Louis foraging through his letter pile on the counter. Liam didn't notice he'd shaved. But he didn't forget how much he loves him, still. "Haha. What are you doing?" Liam almost touches the letters by accident. He locks his fingers against his chest so he's safe from any paranormal activity, and carefully cranes his neck forward to look at Louis's mail. He was right. There are a lot of advertisements. That's partially Liam's fault. He always said yes to newsletter subscriptions when the people working at the checkout register asked. Louis isn't doing a good job at sorting through the mail. He isn't sorting through it at all— just digging. Liam can't properly peek at any letter in particular without another letter covering it up. It can't possibly _all_ be bills.

"How are you paying for the bills, anyway? You haven't been going to work."

Liam notices a small cardboard box that's already been opened, sitting beside Louis. He walks over immediately and squints through the crack the cardboard flaps have left to look through. And, "Oh!" Liam snorts delighted. It's a dildo. Pale and realistic with balls and everything, snug beside plastic sheets and bubble rap. "I guess it is quite lonely now without me!" Liam feels like he's going mad going on talking the way he is. Is this coping? What is he doing? He directs his attention back to Louis and talks to him, watching him busy himself with his mail. "I was thinking we could set up some sort of arrangement. I don't know if I actually care if I'm dead, actually. I was thinking. I actually think I don't mind being here."

Liam looks at Louis with some handsome and lucid understanding. The more he talks and plays the part of a pleasant person, the more comfortable he becomes in his own unraveling lie. A growing coldness that numbs him going up from the base of his spine.

"I mean I don't really care I feel like it's fine. I feel like it's a situation I can deal with like... like I'm getting the hang of things. I do think we could make things work so to speak. They do it all the time in movies. You're, uh... You— You are holding up alright, yeah? Because I'm fine, I think."

This isn't right.

"I don't know... You can't see me. But I think maybe that's alright. I don't mind staying out of your way, you know? I could make things easier for you that way."

Liam's talking so much he's gone blind to the world around him. He doesn't hear the door knocking. Doesn't see Louis shoving all the letters back in the plastic bag. Doesn't see him leaving to go to the front door.

"I know you can hear me, love. I know if you just try? We can make things work." And he turns around. "Do you think you can tr—"

The crack of the front door lets the outside come in. And outside happens to hold the single greatest holocaust Liam has ever felt wipe out everything he is from the inside.

The sound of the world dies.

And Liam faces a trauma so profound he can't feel the ground under his feet.

"Oh! Oh wow... Hi. I— Oh jeez, I really didn't expect you guys. Sorry I look a mess."

"No, no! We're sorry for being late. We got lost. It's so late."

"It’s okay.”

"We know we said six."

"That's alright, love. Don't worry about it. Come on in."

Liam feels the vomit rising up in his chest when Louis opens the door all the way and his guests step inside. "No nono n- _no no no_..." It sounds like it's coming from his feet. The world blurs behind his eyes as he runs to the guest room. He hides himself in the dark and small space of the closet until he can't hear a thing except for his breathing, that strangles him by the throat until he's sobbing and trembling in horror. Liam cries helplessly in the dark as he tries to come to terms with what he refused to see at the door. What he wants gone far, far away. It was like a raging animal charging towards him as it foamed behind its bladed snarl— except that's only what his mind made of it. The sound— because that's all Liam perceived. The sound of what makes him feel like he could die again. Lose it all again.

The guest room door opens. And Liam places his hands over his mouth to keep quiet as tears run down from his eyes.

"Oh they're in boxes?"

"Uh... He— I... I uh... H-His things... are in here. Over there. I put them in boxes because me room's a mess. I didn't want uh... his things to get caught up in the mess. Everything's there. Hope that's alright."

Two pairs of feet enter the room.

"It's fine, Louis. Thank you for taking the time."

"I'll leave you to it. I've gotta go organize me mail and me bills and stuff."

"Okay."

And the door creaks closed as Louis steps out of the room. Everything goes quiet. Until Louis is back a second time.

"Karen?"

The breath Liam took felt like a knife slicing its way through his heart.

"Yes?"

"I forgot to ask. Would you like a cuppa tea?"

"Oh no that's alright, love."

"Ruth?"

"No."

"Okay."

"We'll just be a minute."

"Right. Alright."

Louis leaves again. And doesn't come back. Leaving Liam's mother and sister to shift their weight awkwardly in the room. The silence pierces through Liam's ears like a needle. If he could disappear, die a thousand times over and never come back— if _only_ he could.

_I never got to say goodbye._

Being faced with his mother and sister after his death was the mortifying, heartbreaking thought he couldn't even bear to let manifest in his mind. In this existence there was nothing he could imagine to be worse.

_I never told her I loved her._

And like a fool he thought he would never see her here, and that a forever's goodbye denied couldn't come to bother him. But here she is now. Karen, Liam's mother, is here. And she'll never know Liam is, too.

_I want my mum... I want my mummy..._

"Um... Where do you want me to start, mum?"

"Let's look in this box first and we'll have a look at what's inside."

"I'll look."

The sound of cardboard being bent and touched as Liam's sister open box #1. Liam hears them both in his darkness as he cries silently. This doesn't feel real. But he isn't real, either. If he opens the closet door and runs out he'll scare them. And he doesn't want to scare them. He doesn't want to make them upset. Liam brings his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around himself tightly. Wishing for an end to make everything stop.

"Okay these are his clothes."

"Wait, I want to have a look inside."

"Mum, you said you wouldn't look."

"It's just a few thing I-I want to see them..."

"You told me not to let you, remember? Yeah?" Ruth tells their mother gently. "Come on, we're just here to grab a few of his things. If you want something I'll grab it and put it in the bag." A plastic tote bag crinkles. "Then we can get home we can look through all of them, yeah? With dad and Nicole."

"Dad and Nicole..." Liam mouths.

"I don't wanna cry," Karen whispers with a giggle. Liam's body trembles as he begins to sob again. Everything he holds back digs deeper and hurts inside him. His mother is just such a crybaby. Always crying. Coming to look through her dead son's things while determined not to cry is like asking her to walk through fire.

"You won't! I promise. We've gotta be quick."

"Yeah."

"Let me go have a look at this box."

Cardboard shuffles again as Liam's sister opens box #2. She doesn't say anything. Liam can hear gentle thumping and knocking at a small distance. She's looking inside.

"Louis's kept the room quite tidy, hasn't he?" Karen is standing closer to the closet than before. Liam's eyes go wide as he tries to hold back his breathing, scooting himself closer against the wall. "I don't know if... if they used to sleep here together." _Go away go away go away._

"They slept in the other room. There's another bedroom."

"Oh."

More gentle shuffling of objects against a cardboard surface.

"What's in the box, Ruth?"

"There's pictures of the both of them."

Liam swallows with a deep sigh. He never looks in that box.

"We should let Louis keep that," his mother suggests in a whisper, like she doesn't want Louis to hear.

And his sister stays quiet, seeming to dig through the box more. "This is all Liam and Louis. Most of this box is. Like, their stuff."

"I think it's best we leave that box alone. What are you putting in the bag?"

"Just some things."

"Let him keep some. We have plenty of Liam's things but, you know, Louis needs some, too."

There's silence. And Ruth whispers, "He acts weird, mum."

Liam turns his head to the closet door, at the light coming in from the very bottom.

"He's quite skinny."

Silence takes its turn again, wiping the room clean before Liam's sister whispers again. "You don't think he's acting weird? Putting away all of Liam's things like this. Not wanting to keep anything. You don’t see it?"

 _Is it that weird?_ Liam doesn't know. He doesn't understand. He wants everything to stop.

"Don't talk about him like that."

"Like what? Are we just gonna act like nothing's going on?"

His heart is racing louder and faster like it's up in his throat. "What's going on?" he mouths again.

"I'm not talking about this here, Ruth."

And then Liam hears footsteps coming right up against the closet. He sees two shadows lined up under the crack of the door. And his sister’s tone has changed. "You don't wanna talk about it anywhere."

"We don't know anything."

And Liam's sister hisses as quietly as she can, " _He knows something_." Louis. "He knows what really happened. The police said he lied, mum. He's probably hiding something here."

"Is that why you came?"

"Why are you taking his side?!" And she's shouting loud enough for Louis to hear. "It took him almost an hour to call the ambulance!"

"I don't wanna talk about this!"

“He left Liam to die on the street like a fucking dog! He was dead when they got there and they’re only a few minutes away! They could’ve saved him! That’s what they said!"

And Karen is crying.

"I’m tired of acting like he’s fucking innocent! Do you hear me, Tomlinson?! You're fucking hiding something! What you did to my brother!"

Liam hears the door open and then slam shut. His chest feels empty, vibrating in some horrible whirl as he listens to his mother sniffle from just outside the closet. Tears run down his cheeks in soft streams so constant his eyeballs ache from it all. Everything aches. Liam wants it all to stop. But it only gets worse.

Karen's opened the closet door.

Liam won't open his eyes. He won't move his hands away from his ears. He won't lift his head up from between his pulled up knees. Not when he hears the rustling of a silk blouse. Not when he feels a gentle thump on the ground. If there was a way of forgetting on command he would forget the whole world. But he knows everything and his memory won't fail him. The worst realities are the ones that come to be before him. Those are the bladed ones. The sharp ones. The ones that won't let him forget.

When Liam was little his mother would join him in his bedroom closet to talk to him while he cried about how they threw his pencil case out the window at school, or told him he put too much styling gel in his hair and that it looked like a mannequin's. She never downplayed how much it hurt him. Liam supposes that didn't help his sensitivity once he was a grown man. _'But Liam you don't have to cry just because they told you your fingers looked like sausages_ '— never any of that. It was always okay to cry. Every pain was valid and important to embrace. Embrace— Liam's mother gave the best hugs. Her arms would cradle him and she'd never let him go. Even when he was dismissive of her. Even when he rolled his eyes at her concern or condemned her for meddling too much and never leaving him alone. Those days aren't too far back. Those days are fresh in a near distance. That's what Liam left her with.

Liam doesn't have to look or hear to know it's his mother sitting across from him. He can smell her. He can feel her. There's a pain inside her that burns into Liam's skin. And he feels everything like a bite. That pain, his mothers pain— Liam feels it desolating his soul and he can't stop sobbing. Again and again and again and again.

"Oh..."

Footsteps. And the wiggle of a doorknob.

Liam lifts his head to see that his mother left the closet door open when she left the guest room.

And as Liam listens to her footsteps fade into the hallway, he suddenly begins to crawl. "W-Wait..." he sniffs. "Wait." Outside of the guest room's closet he sobs quietly as he rushes to the door. Liam's mother is halfway out the hall. His heart is racing and he's horrified as he darts into Louis's bedroom as quick as he can. He whimpers, and begins to search desperately through the mess and the smell. "Oh God where is it where is it..."

His mother's mixtape.

"Where the fuck is it?!" he cries, grunts as he rubs the tears out from his eyes. His gaze is heavy and frantic as it scans the sea of junk on the floor in search of the mixtape CD he made for his mother, and just earlier tossed into the room. Liam needs to find it. He needs her to have it. There's a hungry, hurting longing to let her know her son is still here. If only to comfort her, if only to ease the unimaginable sorrow inside her.

"Ruth is uh, outside." Louis tells Karen. Liam can hear everything.

"Thank you for letting us come over."

They won't be coming over anymore. "Where the fuck is it?!" Liam cries out panicked and red-faced. His mother can't leave without him saying goodbye. He regrets not making contact when she was sitting right in front of him in the bedroom closet. It isn't fair and he hates himself for disappearing.

"I guess you'd better get going."

And Liam's mother doesn't say anything. Maybe because she doesn't forgive him. "Don't you let her leave don't let her leave you scumbag...!" Liam says through his gritted teeth as he gets down on his knees and lifts every object on the floor in hopes it will reveal the disk. But it just isn't anywhere. It couldn't have disappeared. "Disappeared..."

The CD case. The disk must've gone back to where it was in the real world.

"Here, Louis. I wanted you to keep this."

"What is it?"

"It's one of Liam's shirts."

"Oh you didn't— You didn't have to, Karen. You can keep them all, if you like."

"When Georg's mother died, he liked having her sweaters and dresses. To keep the smell. And he felt close to her that way. You can take this when you're feeling alone, or you're feeling sad. When you miss him, you can smell this shirt, you take a big whiff! And it'll smell just like him. And you'll feel close to him. You do that, okay?"

"Okay."

Liam trips through Louis's mess until he's by the foot of the bed. There he finds the' CD case. He flips through the pages to see if he'll find the mixtape he made for his mother. Whimpering and cursing as the pages slap by through his fingers. "Fuck! Fuck, come on! Please!"

"You made my son very happy. You know that?"

"I'm alright, Karen. Don't worry about me."

"You're welcome at our house any time you like. And you can talk, and whatever you need."

Liam finds the CD.

"Mum!" And the crying comes again. The ugly baby wailing as he rushes out of Louis's room. "Mum!! _Wait!!_ " Cyndi Lauper, Chaka Khan, Whitney Houston **—** they're her favorite. "Mum, it's Liam!!" She'll love it.

But she's gone.

Liam pants as he turns in circles, looking around the now empty, quiet flat. He's so dizzy. "Mum!" he calls out again and swears he can hear an echo run through into infinity. "Mum, I'm here!!" His face is damp, his eyes wild and burning with some madness, some grief he can't imagine comprehending. By chance, it seems, Liam catches sight of one of his shirts by the couch. Tossed there. The shirt his mother gave to Louis. Louis didn't even want it back in his room. He didn't want it at all. It isn't fair to go through this. This life is not right. And Liam wants it to be gone.

Just like his mother's mixtape.

It's disappeared from his hands and back to its rightful place in Louis's CD case. And ultimately, as always, all Liam can do is resign to sorrow again. Only this time, it feels like dying. He feels like his knees will give out on him any second before falling to the floor to cry. And he would've done that too.

If the phone didn't ring first.

Louis's home phone. Liam stares at it for a moment, waiting for Louis to come into view and answer. But he doesn't come. And that feels destined, he thinks. It's ignorance and emotion that prompts him to go running to answer. His hand is shaking, wet from sweat when he brings the phone to his ear.

It makes him feel stupid when he can't bring himself to say anything.

"Hello?...Hello hello!" It's an old woman. Voice dry and brittle like if it were curdling in her throat. "I-I— Who is this?!" And she's shouting like if there were a dark pit she was peering down into.

Liam knows who she is. He blinks his gaze back up from the floor, his eyes focusing in on nothing like it means something. "...Nan?"

"Who's this?!"

Liam's eyes go wide, bringing in a deep breath before letting it out slow. He swallows, wiping his eyes. "It's Liam, nan!" He sniffs. "It's your grandson." _We talked before. Doesn't she remember?_

She doesn't say anything for a moment, the line going silent. Liam thinks she's hung up and it draws a terrified and quiet whimper from him, looking down at the phone to see if the call's dropped. "Liam?!" But the precious reply comes. And she's confused, surprised. And Liam doesn't understand why.

"Yes! It's me! Liam!"

"Well I-I.... I'm not... not understanding! What are you doing there?!"

Liam expects to phrase himself in a more sensitive prose, but there's a numbness in his belly that seems to push everything out hastily without care. "I'm dead, nan." And she tried to tell him and she doesn't remember and that makes him feel worse.

"Oh, oh, I know, darling.... Oh y-you... poor thing, you are..."

He bites his lip, swallowing when he feels a sob coming in his chest. A new premise dawns upon him— this one painful, further cementing him in a reality that's empty and cruel, making him wish he couldn't think at all. Liam looks down at the ground as if he were shyly avoiding his grandmother's gaze. And it almost sounds like a request when he asks softly, "...Are you dead too?"

The most natural thing. "I do believe so. Yeah." Like if she were talking about the weather or television programming.

And that hurts. "I'm sorry..." _How did she die? Did she die after me?_ Liam doesn't want to think about it. _She must be in a better place than me._ But he can't stop. _Where is she?_ This all feels horrible to think about. Liam's sad and cold and wishes he could hang up and stop existing right then and there.

"You shouldn't be there. That's not the place. I-I thought you'd be gone by now! Your place is gone..."

"What do you mean?" he cries.

"Yours is a place..." And she thinks about it. "Yeah, it's here."

All Liam can do is shake his head, not understanding how he can keep up a conversation like this. "I can't do this..." Watching his loved ones grieve over him, and watch the ones who don't, too. The more questions he asks the more they lead to more pain. And he can't possibly stay here any longer. Not that it's gotten to the point where he's asking his dead grandmother for advice through the telephone. "I wanna leave here, nan..." His voice trembles in his chest, his eyes watering like he's talking about a bad dream. "I-I don't wanna stay here..." _I wanna go home._ "I can't go home..." Red in the face and shaking as he breathes. "T-This is _h-horrible_..."

"You should've gone. W-When you know you go and uh... that's the way it is. Yeah."

Liam doesn't understand. "Why are you the only one who can call me?" And it almost sounds like a complaint when he should be grateful.

"Well I've got a telephone here, and... and I'm always here for a call. A telephone call."

"D-Do you call anyone else?"

"No."

"It's just me? Can you help me?" _Is it fate?_ It has to be. Liam's eyes are wide and desperate. He sniffs, rubbing his face even though he can't make himself stop crying. "Nan, why am I still here? Do you know, nan? Can you help me?"

"Oh of course, Liam! Oh, darling... If it's all up to me, then... then with God's grace I hope to do something right, yeah. W-We... we can be free together."

"Can you help me leave?" he begs desperately with watered eyes. "Please help me, nan. I don't want to be here anymore!" So close to bawling his eyes out like a child.

"W-Well... It's unfinished business, innit? You'll go when everything's, right and, and... you'll see, Liam."

"See what?!" All he's seen is sorrow and it hasn't gotten him anywhere. Liam's grandmother doesn't answer him, and angry he begs again, "Tell me what to do! Please!"

"What things you connect with I, well I..." She sounds confused. Liam's heart is racing in a sudden terror, squeezing the phone tight against his ear and praying she'll lead him to his depart before disappearing. _I don't wanna stay here I don't wanna stay here—_  "I suppose it's important. There's uh... Uh... there's significance in what tools God gives you. He guides you, yeah."

"The things I connect with? What, like objects?" Liam swallows, throwing his gaze around the room. "The things I can touch? And change?"

"I reckon there has to be clues... It worked for me."

Liam's eyebrows curve upward. Hope seems so foreign and cold but he holds onto it for dear life— life he doesn't have. "It did?"

"And you have to right your wrongdoings, darling. That's... the most important."

He tries to press it to his chest, merging it, taking it in. But he can't. He rejects the medicine for being nothing more than....

dirt.

"My _wrongdoings_? What, like my sins?" That's wrong. That's not what he needs to do. He's not some old woman who died in her sleep. "No, I don't—"

"That's it."

 _It can't be._ "That's not helping," he tells her angrily.

"Let Louis know you love him, and, and— you ask him to forgive you."

_"Trust me he's not coming back."_

_"What was he like?"_

_"Annoying."_

The anger flashes across Liam's eyes and stuns him in a moment of silence. "Me?! Forgive him?!" Almost doesn't know what to say. It hurts to feel anything close to blame for what happened to him. It hurts, and it makes him angry. "I'm _dead_ because of him!" Liam shouts with tears in his eyes. "What have _I_ got to be sorry for?!"

_"I'm not... the bad guy here."_

_"That's cos I am,"_

"Love is what matters... in God's eyes— Love is what brings us together. Our loved ones, we ... we bring them peace, Liam!"

"Oh he's not crying his eyes out over me!"

There isn't a morsel of sorrow or regret he's felt from Louis. Only coldness and cynicism run through these lands and they almost taunt Liam. They almost celebrate his depart, his fate. The suggestion that Liam is in debt to anything, to anyone, much less Louis, is like pissing on whatever grave they've got him buried under.

_"He knows something. He knows what really happened. The police said he lied, mum. He's probably hiding something here. He left Liam to die on the street like a fucking dog! He was dead when they got there and they’re only a few minutes away! They could’ve saved him! That’s what they said!"_

"He doesn't care about me! You don't understand! You're not here!" Liam's never felt his feet closer to the ground than they are now. The solid, hard, heavy world under his feet holds him there for a reason— and today is the first time he decides it is.

"Everyone's got their, their dues. And— You know this, that's true..."

"No I don't owe anyone _shit_!" Liam cries loud and deep in the back of his throat. His brows knit tightly together, his face red and damp. "I'm the one who's dead! I don't owe that scumbag _shit_! This is all his fucking fault and what he deserves is to fucking _rot_!"

_"I’m tired of acting like he’s fucking innocent! Do you hear me, Tomlinson?! You're fucking hiding something! What you did to my brother!"_

As if he didn't die from four gunshot wounds to the chest. As if the person he wanted to marry didn't skip his funeral to call over someone to fuck instead. "He's the one who's gonna _pay_!" Sobbing and enraged by it all, making promises he wants to keep. "He's gonna pay for what he did to me!" Liam's world was ripped from his hands with no remorse. _Remember. Don't forget._ A body in a bag, a dog left dead on the street like if his life meant nothing at all. It's the first taste of rage Liam feels inside him and it burns through him like a furnace. Everything ads up at once. "You hear me?! You're _wrong! You're **wrong**!!_ "

The phone comes crashing into the wall with a hard swing from Liam's arm. And it smashes. Smashes into pieces and Liam loves the sound. Liam cries out as he digs his fingers into his hair, panting in a new, strange, burning sorrow he can't remember ever feeling before. Not like this. Not without a purpose and a place he feels he's meant to go.

 

In 2009 Liam had accepted that every day was an automatic invite from Louis to fuse himself to his hip. They were as close as they could've ever been— remarkable in on itself given the fact that they were opposites. At the time, that was beginning to morph into a new meaning. Opposites like a coin, opposites like they were two sides of the same soul. It wasn't obvious to the average person. Louis has a pack of loud-mouthed friends he drinks and crashes parties with, and then there's Liam. Just Liam. Liam who doesn't quite have his life or who he is figured out yet, but is enough of a person that Louis knows he never wants him around his other friends.

_"Is it because you're embarrassed of me? Is it that I'm not cool enough or something?"_

_"Don't go crying about it. They're fucking wankers. I don't want you around them."_

_"Then why do you?"_

_"I mean. Admittedly, I am quite an obnoxious person. It's not like we're that much different, me and them. But listen, Liam, you don't hate me, do you? I mean I'm not forcing you to be me friend or summat like that I'm not... Look, I'm not gonna punch you out for not being me friend, yeah? You know that..."_

_"No, I do! Yeah, of course I like you, Louis. You're cool. You're like my best friend. You're the coolest person ever."_

Liam was something of an uncorrupt soul before Louis came around. He used to be so reserved and shy. Still is, for the most part. But there used to be a time he wouldn't dare let a swear word out his mouth in the presence of Louis. By high school they snuck into private property hand in hand and sneaked cigarettes behind the school building. It's why Liam smoked into college. In his second year of high school he had fallen from grace according to popular opinion. A louder, less likeable, more crass person. Happier and more confident but that didn't matter to the people it should have mattered the most to. His grades were dropping lower than they already were and so was his friend count— if the latter was ever held at high enough regard to do anything but quietly roll away. By that alone, Liam was falling into a complete ruination.

_"It's all Louis. Louis, Louis, Louis. That's all you give a shit about. Not your grades, not your future. You just keep fucking around with him. You're fucking annoying now. Just like him. You're just like him."_

_"Really?"_

_"It's not a fucking compliment, you bloody idiot! You idiot, you just amuse him and his friends! That's all you are to him is a fucking toy. You think he really likes having you around? You? Having you around is like vandalism, that's what it is. That's like spray painting a wall, it's like trashing the place. He just likes messing you up. Getting you in trouble, letting you take the blame."_

_"Louis doesn't do any of that! You stop talking about him like that!"_

_"Just wait until he turns his back on you. You're gonna remember me, yeah? All he cares about is himself. He's a fucking loser. He doesn't care about anything. When your life's completely fucked up, when it all goes to shit, it's gonna be his fault. You just remember that."_

The problem is that no one thought Liam was smart enough to make decisions of his own. Neither did Louis. He took blame for more than he was willing to admit. In Louis's mind he was Liam's sole ticket to perdition. But Liam didn't feel like he could be him without him anymore. Maybe he wasn't getting the best marks or being the most passive guy anymore. But that was his decision to make. Not Louis's, not anyone else's. Liam brought it all down on himself because he wanted to. Louis was worth it, and he would have seen that too if he got to thinking more of himself. Or at least admitted he didn't. _"Come off it! I'm not insecure! Fucking hell..."_ Louis harbored all his deepest meanings in secret. People just didn't understand him, that's all. The big-mouthed performance made it seem like there wasn't more to him than the laddy fallacy he offered up so easily. Liam still found himself discovering a different person in Louis he didn't know before. Every day. Every year.

Maybe that's why he couldn't bring himself to believe Louis really did murder him. But by that same logic, Louis could've just been hiding that person from Liam all these years. Liam only got to swallowing that pill today.

"I'm gonna find out what you did to me..."

 

 

  
_"Liam say hi to the camera."_

_"Oh you're recording me."_

_"Say hi."_

_"Hello! Where is this going? Youtube?"_

_"No it's just for you and me."_

In the middle of the night Liam fails to wake up to the sound of his own voice broadcast small from another room.

_"What shall I say? Now I don't know what to say."_

_"Just keep doing what you were doing!"_

_"What was I doing... Oh! I was gonna show you the—"_

_"Yeah, show me your bracelets."_

_"The bracelets. Okay. Actually I've only got two... I thought I had more."_

A faint light coming from the living room. From the couch.

_"I ended up getting this one. I don't know if you can see it but it's basically just a shark. Thing. It's dangling but it doesn't when I put it on. I think my wrist is too fat. They had other bracelets but I thought the shark would look nice."_

_"It does, love."_

_"Look. There."_ The sound of a jingle. _"Shark's knocking around."_

_"Nice."_

_"And then there's uh—"_

_"You look so cute."_

_"What?"_

It's a video. The source of the light, the sound— it's a video Louis took of Liam earlier this year around February. It must have been the last video of him before he died. Louis is on the sofa, though the darkness makes him a figure barely made out. The street light coming from the window only helps so much. He's on his knees, face is buried into the shirt he's placed on the seat. Liam's shirt. 

_"Talking. On camera. I don't think I've ever seen anyone cuter in me whole life."_

_"Maybe when we have kids."_

_"Do you want kids?"_

_"I love kids."_

_"Me too."_

_"I mean, I suppose we'd be adopting."_

_"Yeah. Oh wow this is crazy."_

_"What?"_

_"We're talking about having kids. You and me."_

_"We made it!"_

With his back arched and his bare ass stuck out in the air, Louis writhes quietly as he fucks himself hard and deep with his new dildo. With every breath he takes in, the smell of Liam goes down his throat and into his lungs.

_"And to think we used to hate each other."_

_"People hated us when we started being friends. Well, they hated me."_

_"They did hate you. But I didn't care. They started hating me. Do you remember? People were always giving me shit because you were like, corrupting me."_

_"Poor innocent Liam. And along came Louis. And you started watching porn."_

_"I watched porn since way before you showed me."_

_"Did you? Was it gay?"_

Louis's moans are desperate, his pitch going higher as he struggles to keep his body still.

_"Not at first. I think that's how I realized I liked guys, is when I just kept trying to find stuff that would get me off. And then I just wound up wanking like, 24/7 to gay porn."_

_"Now you've got **me**. And I do as well. I mean, I have you. So. That's uh... Yeah, that's a pretty good arrangement. Wouldn't you say?"_

_"We're the perfect arrangement. I love fucking you. I do love everything else, too. You've always reminded me of like, those fairy creatures and all that stuff about mythology. Just fairies and stuff. Which was funny because you were always so hardcore and rough and whatever."_

The more Liam's recording talks the faster Louis thrusts the dildo inside himself. His body rocks back and forth against it as he moans louder into Liam's shirt. Rolls his hips deep and smooth and strokes his dick. Getting off to the sound of Liam's voice. 

_"Well not hardcore— you're a pussy. You're complete pussy. And... you're clingy and it's cute. And you make me laugh. You make my life better. I hope you do know you'll always have me by your side."_

Hot and wet inside because he always liked a lot of lube and he always liked to make a mess. That wet, obscene slapping that trademarked Liam fucking him doggystyle. His favorite. Louis's trying to fuck himself as fast as he can and as hard as his tiring arm will let him. He grows frustrated and overwhelmed in panting, muffled sobs. Working towards his orgasm; pushing himself, fucking himself harder than he can take. 

"Fuck...! Fuck fuck fu-ck...!"

_"And I'm always gonna stick around because that's what I do. I'm annoying like that. And I love you a whole, whole lot. With my whole heart. That's so crazy I can't even stop smiling about it. Just talking about it and like, watching you smile behind that camera! Love! I'm so fucking cheesy. But it's fun. I'm just so happy. I could go on forever. But we will, won't we? Forever?"_

"Li, I'm gonna cum... Li, babe, I-I'm gonna cum I'm..!"

_"Forever."_

"Mngh..!!"

_"Yeah."_

_"I love you."_

Louis's hips snap forward as he buries his face in Liam's shirt, breathing him in hard until he's dizzy from the lack of oxygen and the cum that spurts from the tip of his cock. It's the first orgasm he's had since Liam died. And that's saying a lot. That's almost a hundred days celibate. Liam used to fuck him almost every day. Louis's body trembles as he lets himself collapse down slow, panting with a hard squeeze to his aching cock. Not softening yet. Exhausted, regardless. In every sense. How good and horrible he feels at the same time, and how his body goes weak from the deepest pit inside his body it can reach. He wheezing, nuzzling into Liam's shirt as he lies on his stomach. Tired, disoriented eyes. And his orgasm washes away. Detonated and crumbled infrastructures that made for that laddy lad, that cool older brother, that devoted boyfriend and husband that never was, now and in the hour of the two month anniversary of Liam's death.

God help him.

_"I'm so lucky to have you. Aahhh. Love, is this video gonna play when we get married?"_

_"No. We talked about wanking."_

_"Oh."_

_"Shit. Liam, I've got low battery. Say bye, babe."_

_"Bye, babe!"_

"Bye, babe..."


	5. There Was A Concert

Lower middle class streets comes with a nice color on the horizon and the smell of foreign residency. But all Liam can smell is a thin, crisp mist. He can't remember a single scent before it, like empty file cabinets with patterned dust settled on the bottom from a false, deceiving absence. His eyes see— the street is desolate. No cars parked or on the go, and no people walking idly on the sidewalks. Everything is clean and wide. Liam frowns, finding the sensation of hot gravel under his socks to be unsettling and he knows that's not right. Like it's uninvited. But he's just used to walking on the world indoors, is all he tells himself.

Indoors...

_What am I doing outside?_

Liam's eyes squint narrow and ugly as he turns his head up to look at the sky. Azure; in vibrancy. No storm cloud or opaque cap to make the world grey and wet. Just the glaring blaze of the sun stinging his eyes shut. His hand reaches up to block the rays so he can blink back clarity. And in the repossession of his vision he comes to notice his setting with a silent gasp.

"Oh _shit_."

He's standing in front of the building where Louis lives. The red brick of the tiny, narrow structure; the windows with the dark beige curtains; the dirty, faded fence that surrounds the property; and the stairs— the ones leading from the front door down to a sidewalk paved parallel to the hot road where Liam stands.

He is _outside_.

And there is no storm.

Everything is dry.

And that realization comes with a kick of energy buzzing under Liam's skin, making his breath hitch and his footing fail him as he trips and falls backwards onto the ground. Hard. His ass hurts first. But his palms scraped against the gravel, too; and he's wincing as he brings his hands up to inspect the damage. "Ugh." The skin has peeled in tiny pieces just at the bottom, revealing his salmon underskin that lives just a scrape away. And it hurts; a wince coming when he pokes it with his fingertips. And another chill runs under Liam's skin, this time with the foreboding relaxing of his expression as he stares down at his palm.

Pain. What's he doing feeling that?

Liam lifts up his head, his gaze travelling aimlessly across the ground. This place doesn't feel imaginary. It feels cynical and familiar in a span that stretches beyond feeling and instead into history. Into a past cemented in his mind. Solid. _Where am I?_ From his spot on the ground Liam turns his head up to look at his surroundings again as if to give himself another shot of lucidity. Again, Louis's neighborhood. Sunny, hot and empty. But not desolate, not ominous. This doesn't feel like death. Liam doesn't feel dead. With a grunt he's back on his feet, his heart beating faster than he wishes it would as he sets out to test the limits of the sights that surround him and walk around. Just how real is this _really_? Where is the beginning and the end of this rendering?

"...Hey! You finally picked up..."

Liam turns his head in a sharp, jagged turn that boils an ache in the back of his head. He's panting again, his eyes burning in shock as he focuses on the figure in the distance. _Where'd he come from?_ he frowns. 40 feet. Standing in the middle of the road with a cocked hip and no shoes.

"...Yeah but I texted you a lot and you haven't texted me back. You should know that's hurt me feelings quite a bit..."

It's a light and affectionate tone. Blurred from the distance but Liam can make it out as if it were a voice in his head. He takes a step forward that should've been cautious, apprehensive— if only this weren't familiar. If only this didn't feel like the most natural, comforting sight in the world. And that feeling feels dated. But still, it's real. Real to him. And Liam walks forward. To _him_.

"...Just talk to you. It's nothing, really. I mean I miss you. Haven't had you around in a while and...you know... I wish you'd come home. You coming home soon, yeah?..."

Liam walks slowly— a bit woozy. He isn't used to the sound of his footsteps on gravel. If there really are any to be heard at all. So he doesn't understand what he means. Liam can't remember the last time he was so driven to a destination. 30 feet come down to 20 and then 10 before settling with 5.

Five feet now sit between Liam and Louis. Louis who has his back to him. Louis with boxer briefs and a tank top and his flat brown hair. Liam can see him fidget a bit, shifting his weight, his torso expanding just a bit to give a restless sigh. Or maybe a nervous one. He's facing the opposite end of the street even though there's nothing of interest to see. And Liam wonders, _Why is Louis outside?_ In the middle of the road. Liam crosses his arms and tucks his trembling hands under his armpits before swallowing. Nervous himself as he looks at the back of Louis's head, watching his body language as if maybe there's something important to see. Some sign. He doesn't know why he's so terrified of making a sound, taking a single step back. _Should I call him? Can he see me?_ Liam licks his lips, slowly pulls out his hand— not knowing which he'll do first. Call out, or reach out to Louis.

"...I fucking miss you, Liam..."

Louis turns around first.

"...I said I was sorry! I said it a hundred fucking times. I don't know how many more times I can fucking say it..."

He sighs, looking right through Liam as he holds his phone against his ear and frowns, listening closely to the conversation. Liam can't help but step out of his way, quickly tucking his hand back against his body. His gaze is focused like he's trying to see things for what they are, still breathing heavy in his confusion. Louis doesn't look so tired. He doesn't look so dead behind the eyes. And his hair is so much shorter. Liam eyes him up and down, taking another step backwards like it hurts to step forward. _Is he talking to me? On the phone?_

"...Then what would mean something to you? Come on, tell me. I'll do anything..."

It sounds familiar. Like playback.

"...What, like I'm a distraction?"

And Liam whispers with the slight tense of his brow, "I just don't wanna fight..."

"...I don't wanna fight either!..."

Liam slaps his hand over his arm as goosebumps come at him again. _How did I know that?_ Louis is tense, scratching at his head as he paces across the road and back. He never looks so wounded when he's arguing. Always one to be dismissive and seem cool like nothing can touch him. Watching him in whirling in a quiet upset is bothering him more than it should. "Louis?" _Is this a memory?_

"...Look, if I start fights then I'm sorry just punch me in the fucking _face_ if I act up from now on, alright?..." He starts pacing again, this time Liam's way. He hunches over just a bit in his anxiety, gesturing as if Liam could have seen him through the phone then— _when?_ "...Listen, there's this— Okay y— I-I got us tickets! For you and me! Did you hear me?..." His eyes are a bit wide, still walking towards Liam. "...Just listen, it's a concert, yeah? It's Black Sabbath. You know them, yeah? I've played you some songs before..."

"Concert?" Liam didn't mean to say it out loud. He doesn't remember a concert. _When did we go to a concert?_ He figures he must've rejected Louis's invite, then. His body spins around again, analyzing his surroundings and studying the space between him and this world. "What the fuck is this?" He knows he's not making this up. But how is it happening?

"...Yes! Come on, why not? Jesus, you hate me that much already? Do you just never wanna speak to me again? Liam!..."

"This isn't real." Except last time he tried to tell himself that he realized he was dead. But what else could this be? Liam doesn't want to run away. "Shit," he hisses, angry. It's an ominous place and Liam is growing sick. The sun on his skin and the hot road under his feet make for an odd and foreign sensation that tell him again and again, 'This isn't right.' And Liam doesn't want to hear Louis talking anymore. But something is keeping him from leaving. _Why am I seeing this?_

"...It's tonight..."

Liam turns to face Louis again. He can hear his own voice grumbling through Louis's phone.

"...Around 9 o'clock, I think..."

 _The concert? Did I go?_ Liam is growing frustrated at the familiarity that scrapes him by anonymous. Like it's teasing him. He minds his steps as he hovers around Louis. Observing him as if through a polished glass display, entranced by the warm, human aura swimming by him on the neighborhood street. There has to be something for him to see. And panic begins to swirl in the pit of his belly.

"...One night, Liam! That's it! It's just one night..." Louis begs with a hopeful smile. And Liam can't remember the last time he saw that smile. He's standing so close, now. Liam's eyes soften as he looks down, his hands pressed against him because he's terrified of touching his own memory. _But I was never even here. How could I be remembering?_ "...Tonight. I wanna see you, Li..." Louis licks his lips, keeping his bottom one tucked under his teeth nervously for just a bit. Breathing. And then, "...I miss you…” in the most gentle murmur.

"Jesus Christ," Liam chokes in a shallow breath, his hands coming up to grab at his head. Louis's body heat radiates right onto him, walking closer in his loop until they're barely a foot apart. The warmth of a living, human aura. Liam's cheeks are red, his ears flaring in his sudden anxiety as Louis's presence overwhelms him.

“…Do you miss me, Liam? At all?..."

 _What if he's really talking to me?_ And Liam swallows, his voice scraping the back of his throat as it fights to say something. _No._ Because he's already talking to Louis on the phone. _Aren't I?_ This doesn't make sense. Liam doesn't know how much more of this he can take.

Louis just smiles as he keeps his eyes down at the ground and his phone pressed against his ear. "...Well good! I love you too..." This time he turns his head up with a backwards step, smiling with a mellow gaze paid to his neighborhood as he turns lazily in circles. “…I'm all by meself out here. All by me lonesome. Everyone's uh... I told you, yeah?..." He stops, looking down the row of houses on his street. "...That there's an evacuation where I live..."

"What?"

"...Not a _serious_ one, you know— Not like an actual big, you know.... like, _emergency_. But everyone's left the street so it's just me here..."

Liam moves his attention to the street again. "No one's here," he whispers under his breath, looking up at the bright blue sky and the brilliant white sun. He looks at the buildings, at the missing cars, at the drawn blinds. Only Louis’s voice pierces the silence, marking it all under a depressing glaze.

But when Liam stops focusing for just the faintest moment—

"... They said on the news that there was a storm coming and everyone got scared so uh..."

—it sounds like a stampede.

In the distance. A low, vibrating rumble in the distance. Right behind Louis on the other end of the street.

"...It's happened before and nothing ever comes. And plus it's not coming for like a whole fucking week. It's just that everyone's left for vacation anyway so it was already, you know, pretty much half empty here. Now it's just legit deserted. Except there's me, cos, you know. I'm a twat I guess... But I do like the privacy, you know? I have to say..."

Liam gives some steps to the side and looks out to the far end of the road with a tense brow as he tries to see better. Comprehend what that sound could possibly be— because the sky doesn’t change, the ground doesn’t shake. And Liam frowns as his heart stirs, pounding in his chest

before going still.

The rumble growing louder. His pupils contracting. This isn’t memory unfolding on a playback.

"...Well that's what you're for! You'll save me..."

Something’s coming.

Louis's grinning to himself bashfully as he talks to Liam on the phone. Teasing him. "...It definitely could be. I don't know. Who knows..."

At the left turn of the corner at the end of the street, water comes slithering in like a python coming from the shadows. And it grows in height. And it grows in speed. Revealing itself in all its scope. Liam shakes his head, walking backwards on the road as his heart pumps nausea through his body. "It's not real," he whispers.

"...Listen, all I'm gettting from this is that you are definitely moving back in with me. Am I right? Yes?..."

A wave. A massive wall of water hissing as it reveals its range.

"...Where you belong..." Louis says, looking right through the wave as if there were nothing there. And he pauses a bit, no one talking on the other side before he murmurs, "...You belong with me..."

It towers across the street and flips itself like the underbelly of a whale turning towards the sun.

"... No I can't, actually. Can't live without you at all. I said I was sorry. And that I'd pay for the fine. I'll pay however much it is..."

Except the wave turns right towards Louis's street.

"...Right!... So... yes to the concert?..."

Liam's eyes widen, his face turning cold as the wave comes storming their way. The sun drowns behind it and a tall shadow comes to fall over his face. No sun or saving. His body tells him 'Run, you're going to die' but, "This isn't fucking real," he tells himself. Panting, looking around him as if there was a way out of this place— this dream.

"...Good! I want you to come over. To pick me up, at around 8. Can you make it?..."

"I'm d-dreaming I'm fucking dreaming..." Rambling, not knowing if he's right or not. The wave is roaring and muffling Louis's voice as Liam distances himself in backwards steps made for a futile cause.

"...Pick me up in your Lambo, will you?... Yes! Okay yeah yeah, of course, love. I'll see you tonight, yeah?..."

And Liam's panicking now, panting with wide eyes. Watching the wave swallow the buildings and the road ahead as it comes.

"...Alright. Good. I love you..."

Tall and violent as it scrapes the sky in a 200ft wall of beige, murky water.

"...Bye."

And it all comes crashing down on top of them.

"Who was that?"

"What?"

"I said who was that? On the phone."

Liam turns around slower than he should, clunky home phone still in his hand as he faces his mother. "Louis," he tells her.

"Calling the home phone?" She's surprised, finding it funny.

A soft hum comes as Liam looks at the screen. Suddenly he regrets picking up and he doesn't know why. It glides down like a blanket, settling hard like concrete. And in his delay he fails to keep it all from turning into stone. "Yep." He places the phone back on its stand and turns to face his mother, leaning back against the counter with a sigh.

Karen gives a shrug and a smile to keep a good mood in the air. She's been sitting on a stool by the kitchen counter eavesdropping on Liam's phonecall under the guise that she was skimming through her agenda for monthly chores. Her glitter gel pen taps on the page as she looks down at today's blank day; July 3rd. Pretending she's thinking about something to do. But she's not very good at lying. Liam's mother gives a little wiggle of anticipation and sings excitedly, "Well, what did he say?"

Liam wishes he wouldn't answer. Like he doesn't want anything to go on record. "Uh... We're going to uh... like a concert, maybe." He shrugs. "Haven't decided yet."

"Well it sounded to me like you did," she teases playfully.

Liam is annoyed she's rubbing it in. Because it isn't a reality he's proud of. It looks back at him in the face as a reflection and calls him a weaker man. There's principles Liam strives to live by, but things slip by him in the face of passivity. And he wants to be angry. He wants to have balls.

His mother promptly moves the conversation along. "Who are you gonna see?"

"Black Sabbath."

"Black Sabbath?! Oh I know them!" she exclaims. "That's with Ozzy Osbourne! I had a boyfriend once, when I was about your age. He wanted to take me to go see Black Sabbath with him but I was too scared to go. Are you gonna go?"

She's insisting and Liam can tell. His mother's good intentions shouldn't annoy him as much as they do now, but his mood is fragile and sensitive and he can feel this going in a direction he doesn't like. Almost purposeful. Like instigating is a form of damage control for being spineless enough to abide to a reunion with his boyfriend. _Ought to be ex_ , he thinks to himself. "Well he bought me tickets, so. I suppose." Liam wanted this to last at _least_ a week— moving out of Louis's flat to instead crash at his parents' after a heated argument. "Why not." Liam shrugs. "It's tonight."

"You two haven't broken up yet, have you?" There she goes. Karen tries to seem harmless, looking down at her agenda and scribbling circles onto the corner. Cozy in her little sweater despite it being July. Her glasses are slipping from how low she's got her head so she pushes them up, in the gesture letting another comment slip. "Over a fine?"

"Don't start," Liam warns quick and quiet.

His mother lifts her head "Start what?"

"Don't act stupid."

She mother frowns, hurt. "You watch the way you talk to me!" More of a whine than a real warning. She doesn't know how to be stern with Liam, especially at his age.

But he's aggravated all the same. The sudden scold feels like a humiliating pinch and he lashes out. "For Christ's sake, mum it's a criminal record! How many times have I gone over this?! Do you not get that?"

"I do, Liam! I do!"

Not so deep down he knows she does. But he rants anyway in the need for release. Red-faced and frowning, he shakes his head and starts with an unsteady shout, "No you don't! It's not a traffic ticket!" And he looks at her, at how upset she is that he's shouting at her. And that takes him back a bit. So he swallows and starts anew. "They found weed in my car, mum," he talks to the ground. "And it was a bag. Not just a little... you know, cigarette." _Is that the professional term?_ Talking about this is making Liam feel worse and somehow he likes it because it proves his point. Stretching out what keeps being belittled.

And Karen would argue she isn't belittling Liam— she's belittling the situation. But that's not gonna get through. She doesn't speak up often enough to be good as so much as a debate— much less an argument. And Liam's not about to let himself be winded down, no matter how right she proves herself to be. Insisting the way she always does, "But we've already been through this with a lawyer, Liam! You haven't had so much as a traffic ticket and— and you're a good boy!" All she can say, shout. "You don't get into trouble, everyone loves you! Now, Mr. Dempsey said that the court takes all of that into account, and you'll most likely get an absolute discharge. That means they won't charge you with anything, sweetheart!"

Right now would be a good time for Liam to nod his head and stay quiet. But giving into Louis's date has got him too angry to do anything but keep himself in flames. "But the criminal record _stays_ , mum!" His face turns red for it. "For fuck's sake I'm studying to be a _teacher_! Everyone acts like I'm just overreacting about it because that's all any of you love to do! I'm sick of it! How am I going to work anywhere when they see 'possession of marijuana' when they look up my fucking name?! A primary school teacher with a criminal record— yeah that's not a big fucking deal! That's just a fucking joke, innit?!"

"Don't talk to me like that!"

That's all Liam's mother can say. Liam feels bad for closing in on her so tough. He lowers his head and swallows with a frown, reaching his hand up to rub over his eyes.

"And I never said it wasn't a big deal!" she whines quietly. If he lifted his head he'd see she's wiping her eyes so she doesn't cry. "I never said that, Liam! I understand how it worries you. I understand. I just don't want to see you and Louis torn apart over it, that's all. That's not gonna change anything, what's done is done. You two have known each other since grade school!"

_I know. You're right._

It's the lack of credit for the course of his emotions that gets to him. That no one takes him or his troubles seriously is nothing new. Humiliating always. Maybe the frustration comes from knowing he'll never get the infamy to leave his own record, and knowing he has no one but himself to blame. Because Liam's already talking to Louis, already promising he'll come home. Like he's too weak to break up with him the way he doesn't want to, but knows would make him feel strong if he did. And Liam can't keep giving into weakness like that— he's just so tired of it. It's not okay that he has a criminal record forever smeared over his name. Louis's to blame. There needs to be consequences. He has to put his foot down, even if he doesn't know how, even if he doesn't mean if, even if it just ruins things.

"Liam."

He doesn't, though. This time. "Look, I'm going to the concert." Angry and dry in his voice. Won't look at his mother as he steps away from the kitchen and heads to the stool beside her to grab his bag. "Is that what you want?"

She's sad and hurt, frowning as she watches Liam "I just want you to be happy. Do whatever you think is right." And as Liam walks away she starts wiping her teary eyes again, her voice trembling as she looks down at her blank agenda. Nothing to do. "What I want doesn't matter around here anyway."

Liam's got his car keys in his hand as he heads to the door. "Jesus Christ. You always do this." That was mean.

"Oh leave me _alone_!"

Opening the door and letting it slip as he leaves his parents' flat with a slammed door: "I'd be glad to." That was even meaner.

What a horrible thing to say to his mother.

"...What?"

Liam is standing face to face with the flood that's swallowed the road. He recognizes the sight.

It's Louis's street.

The atmosphere feels like it's turned inside out, and Liam is standing on the one with the tag stitched to it. His weight feels different. His skin itchy like it's stuck to something. He turns sharply to look behind him and recognizes that it's the front door to Louis's apartment— not his parents'. He looks back to the flood, the density of his own body suddenly exhausting him. The thundering of the flood, the mist blowing against him. No sun, no sky. Just water and an abysm. Liam rests himself against the door and closes his eyes.

"Fuck." _Was I dreaming?_ Suddenly he can't remember much of what just happened. His mind feels like a deep dark ocean with a waning light flickering through the abyss. Not much he can see— memory.

A phonecall. A wave.

Liam furrows his brow as if recoiling in pain. "Mum..."

A storm. An evacuation.

And he opens his eyes. "A concert."

It was July 3rd— the day he died. Louis called and invited him to a concert, but he can't remember. A spark trying to give life. Again and again like a lighter flashing a flame that never holds. Liam can't catch a memory any more than he could get a butterfly to land on his finger when he was still alive. It just doesn't come to him. But why would things unfold before him if they weren't for a reason, even if he can't connect to them?

"Jesus..." _What the fuck was that all about?_

Liam can only think that something is changing in the waters. The fear he felt when he was drawn into the abyss of the flood is settling inside him again. But this time he fears prosecution. That he'll be dragged in without getting his clothes wet. Liam thought he'd be happy that things are changing. But this doesn't feel right. A new vibe tucked inside the world under him that makes it all fragile, weak.

Just a feeling, though. It's hard for Liam to keep those for long, anyway.

He's quick to open the door and rush himself inside Louis's flat again. It's an irony that he feels safe here, but only because it can lead him to a way out. Like a maze. Although it's starting to stink everywhere everywhere. Stuffy, moldy— that's to be expected. What isn't expected are the cardboard boxes he trips over immediately when he walks inside. Liam catches his footing before he falls. Instead he stumbles, trying to catch his weight again as he turns around and directs his attention to the boxes.

There's two cardboard boxes. Big ones— moving ones. Liam frowns and walks over slowly, his socks quietly patting over the floorboards. The box he tipped over is sitting back in place again. Why does this feel _familiar_? Liam bends down on his haunches and reaches out to touch over cardboard. It's covered in dust, the cardboard wrinkled and bent. It isn't taped shut. It's just sitting here. Right by the door. Liam can't remember it being there before. "What's in here?" He can't remember anything about cardboard boxes, despite the burning familiarity. ... _What's happening?_

"Oi! These go in the truck too, yeah?"

Liam falls backwards with a gasp as someone bends over right through his body to pick up the box in front of him. He watches his wide eyes as a man stands before him with the cardboard box in his hands, bent a bit. Must not be very heavy, or very full. He doesn't wear a uniform, but he doesn't look like any friend of Louis's. He wears boots on his feet and a thick coat hanging loosely off his shoulders. Liam looks behind him and notices the door is wide open, a cold breeze flying in.

"Yeah, and there's one more back in the bedroom."

"And you're keeping the bed frame, you said?"

"Yeah."

That was Louis. Smoking from his place on the kitchen stool as he skims around on his computer, hunched over clad in a hoodie. The guy in front of Liam walks out the door with the box in his hands. Liam crawls over to watch him walk down the stairs and disappear into the flood. The air is so cold. And he stays there, watching with apprehension like he's waiting for a shark to pop up from the water. That quickly turns to fear. This doesn't feel right. Liam shuffles himself backwards with a quick breath drawn in, clumsy as he gets back on his feet and hurries away from the door.

Louis comes to his attention then. Usually he's festering in his bedroom, tending to all his business in there. He's never using his laptop in the kitchen. Liam finds it unusual and he doesn't like unusual. He doesn't like any of this.

"Which way is the guest room?" The guy asks, now back inside.

"Down the hall. First room to the left."

Louis looks back at his laptop, clicking through photos of some meager little living room. Next he clicks to a picture of a bathroom. And then of a bedroom. It's a slideshow on some website, Liam can see. And with the squint of his eyes and a step paid forward, he can see the very rest of the website too.

_rightmove.co.uk_   
**_1 BEDROOM FLAT TO RENT_ **  
_Sheffield Road, Barnsley_

Liam feels stupid for not considering the possibility of Louis moving away and leaving him behind without ever knowing he was there. An idea that's bloomed into ripeness for the very first time, and swings temptingly on its branch in wait for the picking. That's heartbreaking.

Like an angst-ridden teenager Liam storms away with a racing heart and an inability to breathe right. He feels sweat coming down his forehead, his face hot with emotions he can't put his finger on. Running somewhere, now. Through the halls. But there are only three places to go with a slammed door: the bedroom, the bathroom, and the guest room.

Where the guy comes walking out with another big cardboard box. He's pasty and freckled with long blonde hair, Liam notices as he walks through him again.

"Alright. This is the last of it," he tells Louis as he pauses for the quick update.

Louis doesn't turn around when he asks, "Will it fit in the truck?"

"Yeah." The guy nods without even thinking. He looks down at the box and gives it a shake. "Plenty of room."

"Oh good."

"You sure you don't wanna keep anything? For like, memories..."

It hits Liam like a lightning bolt— remembering.

"For the millionth time no." Louis turns around to chuckle. "Just take it."

It's the box full of his things. All the boxes— they're where Louis put his things. They're taking them away.

The guy laughs, giving a mockingly dutiful nod as he walks away with the box.

"Wait," Liam calls out like it'll make a different. "No no that's my stuff! You can't take that away!" It doesn't matter and he knows it. So helpless once he reaches the guy— all he can do is reach out for him and stick his hand through him as silent apparition. The guy just keeps walking until he's out the front door. "Please please it's—"

The effort slips from Liam like loose dust between his fingers.

And he finds himself standing outside at the front door again.

That's not carrying any buzz. Like fear rioting from behind a body trapped in sleep paralysis. Liam stays still, back against the door as he looks out at the flood. He should ask a question but it's not coming to him. He should be reaching for the door but it's not coming to him. Nothing is.

His hand is trembling at his side. He turns his head down to look at it. And it's so odd. The left one is fine, he realizes. The right one is the only one moving around like that. In his line of vision he sees the doorknob, blinking his gaze to shift his focus there instead. He whimpers to himself, frowning at the violent river that runs down the street. It looks bigger, darker now that he remembers what it looked like before. "What the fuck is this?" Louder to himself, his breath a heavier load to carry through his body until he's hyperventilating without a moment paused to think on why. He just opens the door as quickly as he can and hurries back into Louis's flat.

No boxes.

No Louis.

The room isn't looking the same as he remembers. Nothing is familiar. Everything is quiet.

Everything begins to overwhelm him.

Liam runs into the living room to find no one there, the TV off. The kitchen is nothing but the dirty dishes in the sink. Mail is stacked on the countertops. _Louis Tomlinson. Doncaster._ Liam shuffles through them, letting some slip to the floor in his panic. Thanksgiving. Holiday sales. They all go back in place as they are in the real world when Liam leaves to go running into the guest room.

Where only the bed remains.

All of Liam's things are gone. There's just dust and the naked mattress on the same old bed frame.

And Liam can feel the absence of himself. How he misses it. How important it was.

A map leaving a maze. A boat losing its anchor at sea.

 

***

 

When Louis's morning alarm rings he never gets up— out the bed, that is. He'll be awake at least three hours before his phone rings him a good morning at 10am. The most he usually sleeps is three hours. But mostly, Louis never sleeps through the night. The alarm is a miscarried well intention from when he meant to be virtuous. Back when he had a plot and plenty of new prescription medication. Sleeping pills help. There's a prescription for Ambien he was given a few months ago. Although, Louis's never been one to take medication. That's always had something to do with pride and even more to do with fear. Co-dependancy of any kind is something of a nightmare. So is weakness. Being reckless and bullheaded suits Louis better. An unopened bottle of Ambien gathering dust in his bathroom cupboard is what pride looks like. So are the bags under his eyes.

If Louis were just a little more honest, though, he'd admit he's just afraid of overdosing in his sleep after he's been drinking.

" _X gon' give it to ya_  
_Fuck wait for you to get it on your own_  
_X gon' deliver to ya_  
_Knock knock, open up the door, it's real_  
_Wit the non-stop, pop pop and stainless steel_ "

That's not the alarm.

Louis frowns in his exhaustion, rolling over as drags himself over to the edge of the bed. His phone vibrates on the floor and spins obnoxiously with every buzz. He drags out a long sigh and lets his head hang as he waits it out.

" _Go hard getting busy wit it_  
_But I got such a good heart_  
_Then I'll make a motherfucker wonder if he did it_  
_Damn right and I'll do it again_ "

Someone's calling. The time flashes on the lockscreen; 4:12am. The caller averts such courtesy, and remains anonymous with just a number. Louis never answers the phone to anyone anymore. But he never gives his number to anyone whose number he doesn't write into his contact list first. So he has to wonder who's calling, and how that's even really possible. Louis grunts and gives a stretch down to reach for his phone. He didn't expect to do this for another six hours. It's still dark out.

"' _Cause I am right so I gots to win_  
_Break bread wit the enemy_  
_But no matter how many cats I break bread wit_  
_I'll break who you sending me_ "

Phone in his hand, Louis lies back down in his bed and gives the phone number a better look. As if it's a blurry horizon that'll reveal itself after a long double take. But of course it's not familiar. Not his mother, sisters, lawyer or even the police department. Logic tells him to just decline the call. But maybe his insomnia is muddying his ability to reason right. Or at all. And the screen's just so bright.

"Hello?" Louis clears his throat when his voice comes out dryer than he expected.

"Louis?"

It's a guy and the voice isn't familiar. That's to be expected. He lazily shifts in his bed and wonders if he should lie. "Yeah." He blew it. "Who's this?"

"It's Oli."

Louis can feel his heart drop from inside him as he blindly eyes the ceiling. That seems to stun him for a moment, erasing most motive in a reset. And there should be something important for him to do. Something meaningful and appropriate in the context. "It's fucking early."

Oli chuckles, relieved somehow. "Yeah. Sorry. Were you asleep?"

"No."

"I really have to talk to you." He gets to it quick with no icebreaking. Louis's turn to be relieved. "It's important."

 _Told him not to call me_ , he remembers in a quiet flash. All that drama. "Alright."

"It has to be in person."

Louis pauses as if to give himself a chance to think of something important, especially to say. But he goes with, "Okay," instead.

"Alright.... Alright, is uh... " Oli doesn't seem to know how to go around the subject. Louis notices how hard and clumsy his tone is, like they haven't been friends since they were showing off lost baby teeth to each other. "Is anyone else staying with you?"

"No."

"You sure?"

"Of course I'm fucking sure."

"Okay sorry." And he waits for Louis to say something. But goes on in the silence. "W-What time can I come over?"

"I don't know. Whenever."

"Can I come over now? I— Well, I mean, a bit later on, yeah? I'll start getting ready now but uh... it'll take me a bit to get there."

Louis closes his eyes.

"Be ready when I get there, yeah?"

"Yeah."

And there comes a long, dense pause. Both young men knowing they won't be hanging up for it. That's self awareness. Self reflection on either part of the business that binds them together.

".... It's about the police, if you're wondering."

"I'm not."

 

***

 

" _Console me in my darkest hour_  
_Convince me that the truth is always grey_  
_Caress me in your velvet chair_  
_Conceal me from the ghosts you cast away_  
_I'm in no hurry_  
_You go run and tell your friends I'm losing touch._  
_Fill their heads with rumors of impending doo—_ "

Skip.

" _I did my best to notice_  
_When the call came down the line_  
_Up to the platform of surrender_  
_I was brought but I was kind_  
_And sometimes I get nervous_  
_When I see an open door_  
_Close your eyes, clear your heart_  
_Cut the cord_  
_Are we huma—_ "

Skip. _"You know them, yeah? I've played you some songs before."_  

" _It started with a low light,_  
_Next thing I knew they ripped me from my bed_  
_And then they took my blood type_  
_It left a strange impression in my head._  
_You know that I was hoping,_  
_That I could leave this star-crossed world behind_  
_But when—_ "

"No."

Liam presses the eject button and throws the CD behind him back into the trash pile of Louis's room. His trembling hand makes it harder to pick out disks from the album collection. His eye spots quickly, "If You're Reading This It's Too Late." Liam rubs his finger over the disk before snorting. "You didn't take me to see Drake." The next page flips with a hard slap. The next, the next— only stopping when he finds a familiar enough artist. He stops on a page and is quick to pull out the next CD his eyes land on. Pops it into the radio and waits for it to play.

Track 1. A hip rock tune heavy on bass.

" _They found our city under the water_  
_Gotta get my hands on something new_  
_You don't want to be without this_  
_Something isn't adding up_  
_Decide my past_  
_Define my life_  
_Don't ask questions_  
_Cause I don't know why_  
_Someone_  
_Didn't wanna know their name_  
_Drifting_  
_You don't wanna know what's—_ "

_"Uh... We're going to uh... like a concert, maybe. Haven't decided yet."_

_"Well it sounded to me like you did. Who are you gonna see?"_

Skip. "Concert a concert a concert..." Was it a band? One artist? Rock? Pop? Liam scratches his lowered head for a frustrated sigh as track 2 begins to play.

" _Those that try anything once_  
_Should we care about the only ones?_  
_All the time that I need is never quite enough_  
_All the time that I have is all that's necessary_  
_You're livin' a lie_  
_You're livin' a lie_  
_You're living too fast_ "

He furrows his brow as he tries to dig up a memory, praying it takes him somewhere worthwhile. But it's the same thing every time.

_"You know them, yeah? I've played you some songs before."_

Never anything else. "Come _on_!"

There was a concert Liam went to on the night he died; an artist he knew about— and that's all Liam has. He can't go any deeper, any further down into himself. His mind suddenly feels like the most shallow water, a tiny little puddle that can't hold anything more than what old rainfall left behind. All Liam keeps doing is popping CD's into Louis's radio, skipping over songs until one of them sounds familiar and triggers a memory of the night he died. And that's hope. That's about the only hope he has right now.

Liam knows these songs just aren't it. Eject button. He throws the CD away and pulls out another one from the album. A black and white checkered pattern with a woman mirrored around the center circle. Santigold. Louis's played songs for him from the album, Liam remembers. With clumsy speed he puts the album aside on the floor and slides the disk into the radio. From his spot on the floor he bends over, elbows on his thighs and head in his hands. Eyes closed always. _Focus_.

" _What I'm searching for_  
_To tell it straight, I'm trying to build a wall_  
_Walking by myself_  
_Down avenues that reek of time to kill_  
_If you see me, keep going_  
_Be a pass-by waver_  
_Build me up, bring me down_  
_Just leave me out, you name-dropper_ "

Liam recognizes the melody. He concentrates on every bit of the song as it unfolds. Vocals, instruments, pace.

" _Stop trying to catch my eye_  
_I see you good, you forced faker_  
_Just make it easy_  
_You're my enemy, you fast-talker"_  
_I can say I'll hope it will be worth what I give u—_ "

Nothing.

Skip.

" _Go ahead, you know you want it_  
_You'll have no other way_  
_You just want to take us down_  
_Go ahead, I'll be the one hit_  
_If I can take you—_ "

"No." Skip.

" _Brooklyn we go hard_  
_We on the look for the advantage, we work hard_  
_And if we seem to rough it up a bit_  
_We broke but we rich at heart_  
_Pull ourselves up now we wo—_ "

Skip.

Nothing is happening. Not even close.

" _Louder than they_  
_Louder than they_  
_Louder than they_  
_Allow, allow_  
_Louder than they_  
_Louder than they_  
_Louder than—_ "

"For fuck sake."

Eject button again, and another one of Louis's precious CD's is thrown into the junkpile that is his room. Liam's hand is shaking as he flips through the pages of his album again. Desperate he quickly picks another disk again. Black Sabbath. Master of Reality. Liam shoves it into the radio and waits for it to play. It starts off with coughing, and Liam holds back the urge to skip over the song immediately. It's heavy, classic sounding rock. Basic and slow.

" _Alright now!_  
_Won't you listen?_  
_When I first met you, didn't realize_  
_I can't forget you, for your surprise_  
_you introduced me, to my m—_ "

Skip.

Liam closes his eyes, furrowing his brow again as he listens and he tries to harder this time. Some kind of buzzing synthetizer plays. It's not familiar. Nothing's coming to him, still. The guitar and the drums come in for another slow, easygoing round of classic metal.

" _Have you ever thought about your soul - can it be saved?_  
_Or perhaps you think that when you're dead you just stay in your grave_  
_Is God just a thought within your head or is he a part of you?_  
_Is Christ just a name that you read in a book when you were in school?_  
_When you think about death do you lose your breath or do you keep your cool?_  
_Would you like to see the Pope on the end of a rope - do you think he's a fool?_  
_Well I have seen the truth, yes I've seen the light and I've changed my ways_  
_And I'll be prepared when you're lonely and scared at the end of our da—_ "

Liam swallows hard as he presses the skip button again, frustration a harder thing to handle. Nothing's familiar. Skip to the next song. It's a choppy, clumsy electric guitar. It goes on for a while with no vocals before cutting into a plain metal instrumental. Liam doesn't have the patience to wait so he skips to the next song with a growl. Heavier metal again.

" _Revolution in their minds - the children start to march_  
_Against the world in which they have to live_  
_and all the hate that's in their hearts_  
_They're tired of being pushed ar—_ "

Skip.

" _Coming from afar and beyond_  
_We reach the stars of what is destiny,_  
_We will realize that sometimes it pains me to say its time to die—_ "

Skip.

“ _You're searching for your mind don't know where to start_  
_Can't find the key to fit the lock on your heart_  
_You think you know but you are never quite sure_  
_Your soul is ill but you will not find a cur—_ ”

Skip.

" _My name it means nothing_  
_my fortune is less_  
_My future is shrouded in dark wilderness_  
_Sunshine is far away, clouds linger on_  
_Everything I possessed_  
_Now they are gone—_ "

Liam just jabs his finger on the eject button again and again as he angrily gives up. "Fuck this!" And he grabs CD, slamming it into the ground until it snaps in half. In frustration he grabs the album of Louis's CD collection and throws it against the wall as a couple of disks slip out onto the floor. "It's not working..." he breathes in heated defeat. _A concert, a concert._ But he can't do this forever. This isn’t getting him anywhere. Maybe it takes more time. The suggestion only infuriates him more. Liam has no more time. The only clue he has and it won 't take him anywhere. "Stupid fucking _concert_!"

_"You really think some stupid fucking concert was going to fix everything?"_

A car ride home.

Liam gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles are turning white, driving down the 11pm highway.

_"I fucking hate you. I hate you so fucking much. You're a fucking lowlife you're a fucking scumbag."_

_“This is BBC Radio 1!”_

"Who are you texting?" Liam tries to sound angry and dismissive, not sparing a glance to Louis as he drives them home. "What, you telling them all about our business?"

Twisting things, making Liam out to be the bad guy in their argument. Louis wouldn't, really. He hates gossip. But Liam doesn't know why he's convincing himself he would. It feels like he has no control of things, now that Louis’s claiming their breakup is fiinalized. His heart is shaking a riot in his chest, blood stirring making his head dizzy. The humming of his Lamborghini is bothering him. The radio especially, playing grime music from artists he doesn't even like. The rainfall is starting to get heavier on the road and he can't help but be terrified of crashing. Terrified of a lot of things.

"Will you fucking answer me?"

Louis doesn't. He locks his phone after one final text sent, and slouches back in his seat as he turns his head left to look out his passenger window. Liam throws him a glance, clicking his tongue at how stubborn he's being. _Just apologize. Take it back._ Liam shakes his head at his own monologue. It's Louis who should be apologizing. Louis's the one who has to make a change. And he shouldn't feel guilty about that. In his head he's convinced Louis will get over this whole thing and come crawling back after some self reflection.

Louis moves forward in his seat to turn and look out the back window. He snorts before going back into his seat.

"What?" Liam tries to turn his head but he can't without ripping too much focus away from the road. So he looks through the rearview mirror, expecting to see something of interest. But it's just a car. A little close. "What? Who is that?"

The music stops abruptly.

No Lamborghini humming.

"It's just the radio. There's no one here."

Liam looks up to see that Louis's got the radio cord in his hand, cutting the power. Liam’s an idiot for pressing his finger into the power button as if that will turn it back on. As if his ghostly powers will fix it. Louis drops the cord and Liam quickly fetches it, plugging it back into the wall before pressing the power button on the radio again. Nothing. His eyes go wide, his jaw clenching. Liam crawls back towards the wall to try and fix the cord.

But there's nothing plugged into the wall. The radio's power cord is on the floor. Right where Louis dropped it.

"No no no no,” Liam’s voice cracks. He was listening to the radio that night— in the car. If he turns on Louis’s radio he can listen to it, have it bring something back. Liam grabs the cord again and plugs it back in. Pressing the power button, the eject button, the play button, the AM/FM button. Nothing. "Oh God no no no please..." His heart racing as he goes back to look at the power outlet. This time tears well in his eyes, his fist clenching when he sees again.

There's nothing plugged into the wall. The radio's power cord is on the floor. Right where Louis dropped it. Plugging it back in over and over again leaves the real world unmarked. Liam is powerless. And no matter how hard he tries there's nothing he can do to change that. The first piece of hope he had has turned to dust right in his hands.

There's nothing else he can remember from that night. The memory's left him again and he's _still_ here. Liam hunches over onto the ground, slamming his fist on the wooden floor in a single, powerful blow.

"What the fuck was that?"

He snaps his head up when he hears an unfamiliar voice coming from the bedroom. Liam lifts himself up, standing on his feet as he comes to realize Louis has a guest over. A seemingly angry one. And Liam can almost recognize him. Tall, lanky, ginger hair. He walks over to the radio and Liam quickly scurries out of his way. _Who is that?_ he thinks, watching the guy inspect the radio and look around Louis's room.

"Have you taken a look around?" Louis tells him, clearing his voice before reaching a hand up to run his face. And he sighs. "Something probably just fell."

The guy kicks at a particularly big pile, poking at it with his foot until it topples over.

"Oi, watch it!"

"Yeah things just fall on their own. Just like radios turn on by themselves." The guy is angry, worried. Liam watches him breathe tight and heavy as he keeps looking around Louis's room. Looking— really looking. What's he looking for? When did he get here?

"I know someone's here." He nods, glaring at Louis as he takes a deep breath. Liam turns his head at Louis, and finds that Louis's just not returning the effort. He shrugs, resting back against his bedroom wall as his friend goes on complaining. "Do I look like a fucking idiot to you?"

Liam doesn't understand what's going on. Desperate for answers, he heads for the door to try and see if the guy came with anyone else. If he left a bag or brought something. "I know him..." Liam can feel the mark it makes on him, how it once had a space in his head. He keeps walking on, his thick brows knit together in a tight frown. But nothing's coming back to him.

"Don't fucking push it, Tomlinson."

"Or what?"

Liam stops dead in his tracks with the sharp turn of his head to look back behind him. "That didn't sound good..." There, at the distant frame of the bedroom door. Louis's voice is faint when it comes after a chuckle.

"Eh? Or what?"

And the door closes.

Liam rushes over as fast as he can in a panic. But when he reaches the door, hands on the doorknob, he's devastated to find that it's locked. He knocks on it hard with his fists, but no sound from inside stirs to respond to his plea. "Louis!" As if that would work. Liam doesn't understand why the desperation. Why the fear.

"What's gonna happen, Oli?"

Liam stops, panting at the ground. "Oli?"

"The lads are gonna shoot me this time?"

 _"Louis, is that car following us?”_ Liam terrified as he looks through the rearview mirror. _“Are these guys following us? Those your mates?"_

"You so fucking tough, yeah? So fucking gangsta? Or are you just gonna snitch like a little fucking rat?"

Liam’s breathing comes jagged like he’s chocking on the memories that flash before him, stitched with the emotion that came with it. He doesn’t know what this means.

"I'm not a snitch. I just wanna make sure you aren't either, yeah?"

Fear.

"Just get out."

Pain.

 _"Is it the car?”_ Hands up and backing away on the sidewalk. Rainfall pouring down on him in the night. Liam begging. _“Do you want my car? Y-You can have it, man. Here j **—** T-Take the car."_

The bedroom door swings open. Oli walks out and right through Liam. Liam stays quiet, terrified as he presses himself back against the wall. Trembling, helpless to what's happening to him as Oli promises,

"You know, Louis, I'm not the one who's got blood on his hands!"

 _"—do whatever the **fuck** you **want** with him. You're doing me a favor."_ And that was Louis’s voice. In a vicious, hateful hiss.

"You might wanna think about that. If you don't already while you're rotting in your shithole."

_"Oi!"_

A sharp pain rips through Liam's chest in a four-note blast. One for every bullet that pierces through his body until it knocks into bone.

But there’s nothing there. Liam is heaving, crying out in a phantom pain as his hand comes over his chest to press down against the four spots of burning pain. No blood. No wound. He’s just standing in Louis’s hallway, trying not to fall over. He doesn't know how to process what's just happened. "Oh God..."

_Was that it?_

The pieces. They were driving home from a concert. They argued, they broke up. Louis's friends started following them.

"—do whatever the fuck you want with him. You're doing me a favor."

Bang.

And he was dead.

That's it.

Liam lets out a tired, shocked laugh. “That’s it.”

But everything stays quiet.

He shuffles his way out of the hallway and into the living room, the kitchen, the entrance. Expecting something in a high, dizzy cloud. But it's all the same as it always is. Liam stays put and waits for something, breathing harder. "Why isn't anything happening?" he whispers, his face turning red as he struggles to breathe.

Something is supposed to happen.

It’s all supposed to be over.

Liam rubs over his face, pacing through Louis's flat looking for _anything_. And he doesn't want to panic, he doesn't want to acknowledge the possibility of failure in the face of some universal indifference. "Come _on_..." He can't breathe. Silence goes on like nothing's changed. _Why?_

Liam feels a rupture going through him that buns through his bones— and that's rage. That's disbelief.

"N-No no..."

He runs to the door to escape.

But it won't even open. " _No!_ " Liam cries out as he bangs his fist on the door. His eyes shut tight, burning with tears. The door is locked. It feels like he's falling apart from the inside. Like his soul is collapsing from under his skin. "Let me out! Let me out!" Liam hits the door with his fist over and over. Kicking it, pulling at the doorknob as he cries out desperately at whoever's watching. Some higher power. Begging, "This is it! There's nothing else here! It's over!!" His voice is cracking in pain. And he's not supposed to feel that. This is supposed to be gone. There's nothing else he's meant to do. "I was a good person! I don't deserve to _be here!! Let me out!! Oh God, **please**!!_ " Sobbing, his breath hiccuping as he slowly resigns. "I don't wanna be here anymore! Let me out..."

Nothing.

It didn't work.

Liam throws over the table by the front door, sending everything on top of it flying across the room and breaking onto the ground. This is the end— it's _been_ the end this whole time.

" _No!!_ "

Maybe not every ghost has a purpose. Not every soul was meant to find peace, like lost pennies on a sidewalk growing dark and forgotten with grime and footsteps' dirt.

" _No!!_ No, _no!!_ "

Because things happen. Things get lost. And not all of them are ever claimed. Liam feels cheated out of something, but he has no one to blame but himself for believing otherwise. For letting fantays drive him into hope. Believing something no one ever told him would be real with all his searching and clues. Like a fool. An absolute fool. All he has is a half-space, a half-fact and a whole lot of rage.

And Louis. There's Louis, standing there as he looks across the room at the mess that's been made. The table broken across the flood, the broken glass evrywhere. His face is red, his eyes quiet and dry.

"What are you looking at?!" Liam cries out angry and hard as he turns his body towards Louis. And this is bad. Walking forward, his posture hunched as he pants and comes closer to Louis. This is going bad. "Eh?!" He kicks the table again, flipping it over to its other side as it shatters over more glass. Louis gives a jump, his chest shuttering through his breathing as he looks at the ground. "You scared?" Liam asks cynical. Satisfied. He just nods to himself, kicking over the glass as it shatters under his socks to bleed through false and without feeling. But Louis hears it. He's backing away. "You fucking wanted me dead, eh?" Liam didn't expect for that to crack his voice. And he didn't expect it to be a question. It's supposed to be fact. "You called up your little friends?! Was that it?!"

Louis turns and hurries into the hallway.

"I know you can hear me!" Liam screams as he follows in pursuit. He bangs on the wall next to him, satisfied when Louis gives another jump in nervousness. "You hear that?! Huh?!" _Bang!_ "You hear that?!" _Bang bang!_ Liam hits the wall over and over and over again until he's right by Louis, banging his fist against the wall so it rings right beside his ear. "Can you hear that?! It's me!! I'm here!! I'm fucking here!!"

Louis makes a sharp turn as he heads into his bedroom, grabbing the door handle with him to lock himself inside.

"No you fucking don't!"

Liam slaps the door open until Louis's grip on the handle is ripped right from his hand. It stung and he brings his hand up to rub at his wrist, shaking and breathing hard as his eyes blindly eye at the door.

"What did you do?!"

Louis trips over his junk on the floor and falls backwards. He cries out in pain, hand coming to the back of his head as he tries to sit up. But Liam hits his chest and pushes him back down. Louis's eyes go wide, not knowing what's happening.

"What did you do to me?!" Liam cries. Louis tries to turn over and crawl away, but Liam gets down on the ground and pins him down so he stays still. He can feel his skin under his palms, the burning heat of his body at his mercy. "Why don't you care?!" He can see the fear in Louis's eyes as he squirms, his hand slapping over his body as he tries to understand why he can't move, why he feels hands coming up his neck.

Liam squeezes down.

"Tell me!!" Why Louis doesn't miss him. Why he's never cried. Why it matters so little what Liam was to him. Why it's been so easy. There were downs but they always shot back up. Never a slope between them to sink things down forever. Liam doesn't understand. He's soaked in tears, burning in agony because there's nothing else in him. It's all he feels as his grip tightens, watching Louis's breath stop in his chest as he slap his hand over his cramping neck. Turning red. And it's the closest thing Liam's ever felt to life. Like it's filling him. "Tell me why you did it...." Turning purple. "Tell me why..." Turning blue.

And he hates it.

Liam lets go of Louis's neck and backs away as fast and as far as he can. Louis gasps as breath fills his lungs, turning over to cough. There isn't a word for him to describe what his body's doing to him anymore. Human beings weren't ever made to respond to something like this— not even their souls. Louis just lies there coughing, slowly turning himself over as he holds his weight up on his elbows. And he's just so calm about it. Doesn't even more from his spot as he catches his breath.

And Liam doesn't know what to feel. Like he's exhausted every option, and all he can do is cry himself gone. If only he really could.

 

***

 

"...Hey, mum. How are you doing?..."

...

"...What are you making?..."

...

"...Aw that sounds really good! I can taste it already..."

...

"...No nono no don't bring me anything. I've got plenty of food here, mum. It's just gonna stay in me fridge I— I'd rather eat it at your place. Yeah?..."

...

"...I know. I'm sorry..."

...

"...It's not you. I just haven't been calling anybody..."

...

"...Yeah, I'm alright. I think about you all the time... Yeah! Yeah, always. I'm sorry I haven't been around or uh... answering your calls. I just wanted to let you know I was sorry..."

...

"...I haven't been at me best and uh... It's nothing, I'll be alright... I'm fine now. Really. I think I'm really at me best right now, where I am. I'm content..."

...

"...I mean I'm just... I'm just not one of those people, mum. But don't worry about me. I'm fine. I'm really good, mum. I love you a lot..."

...

"...Are the girls there? Can you get them on speaker? Like, in a room?..."

...

"...Oh. No I get it. It's alright! Yeah!... I understand..."

...

"...Ha! Busy busy! That's the way you always are! Don't sweat it." he laughs. "You're the best. I love you lots, mum. I love you all very much. Tell the girls goodnight for me, yeah?..."

...

"...Goodnight. Love you. Bye-bye..."

Louis brings down the phone from his ear and ends the call. He moves slow to slide his phone in his pocket— and miss. It falls on the floor. "Shit..." He rubs over his eyes instead before resting back against the wall and staring vacantly into the space in front of him. That ends in just a moment. He's sweating. Louis decides that the living room is the place he would like to lie down.

 

***

 

The shower door keeps all the steam from the hot water pocketed until the little cubicle is dense with fog. It rises up like a hot cup of tea. It must be just as scalding. Liam can't wait to get in. Sitting on the closed lid ot the toilet, the air around him is already starting to get thick. He can't remember the last time he had a shower. The sound of a different kind of running water. That's all Liam's really thinking about. It's been a few minutes since he stepped in, shut the door, turned on the shower and just sat down. Time's slipped from him again. This time he has no real intention of looking after it.

The end of the line. It feels like his first vacation. Louis will be moving away soon and this is where Liam will stay until some sage-bearing woman sets him free. Maybe with cameras, depending on how much he moves around.

But that's not funny. Liam's tired of thinking, and the baggage that comes with being conscious. Things were simpler when he was just watching Bridge to Terabithia and eating crisps. Swimming against the currents is exhausting. Liam doesn't feel much anymore now that he's drifting. He just looks forward to a shower. Right now ought to be a good time.

But while standing up from the toilet, Liam's foot kicks on something and sends it to a sharp quick crash. He turns to find broken glass around his feet. It was a bottle, he notices. Big enough to make a mess. When he bends down to take a look the smell hits him in a strong, pure whiff. "What do we have here?" A nice big bottle of vodka. Smirnoff— not the fanciest. There's only a tiny puddle on the floor. "Someone had some fun..." Usually Louis drinks in his bedroom, or in the kitchen. Liam can't say he's known Louis to drink in the bathroom. Much less down the whole thing— if he even did. _Whatever_ , he thinks. Liam kicks away the glass and turns his attention to the mirror, wiping away the steam until he catches his reflection. "Hey mate," he mumbles to himself. "Not looking too good there."

Although he is. He's exactly the same. Chocolate brown eyes, a square jaw, sun kissed skin from the summer when he died. And he's human enough to know that isn't normal. It isn't right. Liam doesn't look as tired as he feels, doesn't look as dead. He's neatly kept together like he is when he goes out, never when he's relaxing at home. It feels cynical when he realizes it's memories of this place when he thinks of that— home. Liam swears he’s been wearing the same clothes forever. Can’t remember eating. Bathing. Sleeping. He wears basketball shorts and a black tank top. The slightest beard. The slightest curl of his short hair with the same crisp fade of the haircut he got the day before he died. _Death._ That’s all that’s left of him now. He flashes a smile because he doesn't remember what that was like either. And it's a nice smile.

_"You've got the nicest smile in the whole world."_

_"Yeah? Well... I'm pretty sure I like yours better."_

_"Is that right?"_

_"You're like a little elf. You're like all... I don't know, like Peter Pan."_

_"Are we still on the topic of me smile? Cos I don't remember Peter Pan being famous for his smile in particular."_

_"He was a little shit. Like you."_

_"I suppose that makes you Wendy. Wendy... liam. Wendy William."_

_"You're Peter Pan and I'm Wendy Williams. Brilliant. Thanks."_

Liam snorts. This time he forgets to excuse it, or justify it. It was just a good laugh. He reaches over to rub away the steam in the mirror again and this time he finds his wrist aching in the quick flick. He winces and looks down, rotating his hands to test the pain.

That's from choking Louis.

Liam's not supposed to hurt. Not here. He clenches and unclenches his fists, dizzying at the soft sting he feels in his joints.

And he's sorry.

That can’t be right. But he can never help those things. It’s there, floating, staying, keeping its place in a warm new flame. It should feel like a meaningless glitch, the way this all is down in its core. But Liam _feels_ sorry. He _is_ sorry. And he can't imagine not being. _You're dead, don't be sorry_ , he tells himself. Liam just shrugs to himself. "So?" in a whisper, just to himself. He takes a deep breath and blows out slow. Everything's lost its name and changed color. Liam wonders how much easier things would’ve been if he didn’t watch so many ghost movies. Easier for Louis, too. Truce, he'd call. If he could.

The steam's made his reflection disappear again.

Liam turns down down to wash away the prickling in his hands

but he stops.

_Why didn't I see this?_

An uncapped bottle of Ambien sitting at the bottom of the sink. Liam reaches down to grab it in his hand.

It’s empty.

He didn’t even know Louis took these. Louis’s always had trouble sleeping. But it was worse when Liam wasn't there, once he'd gotten used to squeezing up at his side every night. Liam frowns, looking down at the date of the prescription. July 6. Three days after he died. It says there's 100 tablets in the bottle. Liam doesn't remember watching Louis ever take them. Even before he realized he was dead. His hold on the bottle tightens without him meaning to.

_He's fine._

Liam didn't mean to tell himself that. His head hurts. He lets the empty bottle of sleeping pills drop back into the bathroom sink before turning off the shower and heading out the bathroom. He gives a quick walk to Louis's room, expecting to find him sleeping in bed.

But he's not there.

And he really expected him to be.

Everything is the same mess as it's always been. Liam can see all the CD's from Louis's collection that he threw in anger. And he's sorry again. Some of them must be scratched forever. Louis put so much money into his music collection. Years' worth of effort and passion now scattered around the room. What must Louis think? Liam's never stopped to really think.

When Louis walks into his room and finds his precious music collection destroyed and laid to ruin all over his room— how does he think that happened? That it was him and he doesn't remember? That he's imagining it all? And Liam wonders what he must've thought about being choked. Could he shrug that off the way he does everything else? And Liam shrugs to himself, his face twitching as he holds back a frown. "Who cares..." _Why should I care? He doesn't care about me._ Liam swallows hard, leaning against the door as he stares at the bed. Every thought he wipes away until it's clean. Not thinking about any of those things— he refuses.

Because that would be concern.

And he has no concern for Louis.

_He's fine._

Walking slow is going against his hard breathing like water in oil. And Liam doesn't know why he's so desperate to hold the arrangement. It smothers him, making it harder to breathe and boiling an ache in the pit of his forehead. Coming out of the hallway he bites his nails as if gagging himself in restraint. Breathing through his nose makes it a heavier labor.

 _He's fine_ ,

he tells himself when he doesn't see him in the kitchen. His gaze is vehement and glassy as his eyes shoot from corner to corner, all over each and every inch of Louis's flat. It's taking every bit of himself to keep from bolting into a panicked search.

_He's fine._

Liam shifts his weight side to side as anxiety rolls through him slow like a wave bleeding to the shore. He runs his hand over his face and over his eyes.

Something doesn't feel right. It's bugging him. Bugging as in minor, bugging as in slight. Of course. It's not serious. "He's fine." Louis must be lying on the couch, doing something stupid on his phone. Or maybe he's outside having a smoke. Liam tells himself he's overreacting as he heads towards the living room. It doesn't mean anything.

Taking sleeping pills in broad daylight.

Empty bottles of Ambien and vodka sitting by the bathroom sink.

It's nothing.

"H-Hey..."

He sees Louis.

Liam feels how his heart stops, how sound no longer registers in his ears. Nothing's going through his head when he starts to run. And it's like consciousness almost leaves him for a moment, those moments— steps taken, breath pumped in and out of his lungs hard like if it were all rusty machinery. There's nothing at that time.

It's only when he's by Louis's side on the floor that it hits him.

And it hits him all at once.

"Louis." It's the first time Liam can remember saying his name in a long time. And it's said with the most fragile thread stitched between each letter. Calling out to him gently. On his knees, bending his back down as he tries to look into Louis's eyes. "H-Hey." And he hasn't felt anything this heavy since he found out he died.

Because Louis's on the floor, curled on his side and shivering as he keeps his hands pressed into his stomach. He breathes fast but shallow, drenched in sweat and squirming weakly. And he looks annoyed about it, almost.

"Hey." Liam's hand trembles as it reaches out to touch Louis, but his hand goes right through him. His breath hitches a little, quickly drawing his hand back. And it feels just like the first time all over again. _Feeling_ it, really _feeling_ his own absence from the world.

As if he'd forgotten.

And Liam can't remember registering anything this poorly since he saw his own funeral on the TV. He blocks the very word from coming into his head. Refusing it and denying it with the blindest of gazes, the softest of voices. "Louis. M-Mate." His voice shaking, pressure building in his nose as it reddens and quickly clogs. He sniffs. "Louis." In an angrier voice as his eyes start to burn and water. Like he's annoyed, like this isn't funny. His brow furrows tightly as he smacks down on the ground to get him to wake up. "Hey." And of course Louis just stays lying there, blinking down at the same spot on the floor as he struggles to breathe. Liam's angry. "Hey!" But what does he think he's doing, hitting the floor next to him and calling out his name? What is he really doing? Liam sniffs, tears welling in his eyes as he sobs, "Fucking get _up_!" How will that fix it?

Louis's overdosed.

"You idiot!! _You fucking idiot!!_ " Liam slams his fist into the ground again and again, frustrated at the thought of every attempt to save him he'll be powerless to ever do. Because he can't touch him. That wall between them only came down when he wanted to kill Louis and refuses to return so he can save his life. Unkind realities that will only cause more pain if he reads into it. His hands keep going through Louis's body and hitting the the carpet every time he reaches out to him, every failure drawing out a heavier sob from his chest and harder thud on the floor. And Liam just keeps lacing it with anger. "You have to get up! Come on!" _What good's that gonna do?_ "Please! I know you can fucking hear me, come _on_!!"

But Louis doesn't budge. Not even a little. And of course he wouldn't want to anyway.

"N-Now I'm not gonna let you f-fucking die here! Not here!" And Liam convinces himself that's the only thing he's protesting. He doesn't care if Louis dies. He just doesn't want him turning into a ghost beside him in permanency. "I'm not getting stuck with you, hear me?!" Trying to remember the plot. He rushes to the house phone and dials 999. And he warns him, calling from his spot by the phone, "That's the last thing I fucking n-need."

It's ringing.

Liam doesn't want to admit how terrified he is. He's a ghost, he shouldn't be handling this like if he were alive. Liam wants to act above death all over again. Talking to Louis like he's gone and done some stupid stunt, like he always used to. But listening to the phone ring, turning his head over to look around him, something in Liam's heart drops for a second time.

The hell he reigned just a little while ago. The table flipped over on the floor. The broken glass Liam's stepped all over but can't even feel. But Louis would feel it just fine. Red and burning, bloody and blue. Liam relives that whole history from minutes ago. "Jesus fuck..." The frustration and the rage, he can feel it left behind, whirling in place as it burns on in his wake. He was so angry and he let it out on everything. But especially Louis. "Idiot..." His heart is beating faster. It's hard to swallow— all of it. "Fucking _idiot_."

"999 Emergency. Which service?"

That sends Liam back into the present with a silent gasp. "A-Ambulance!"

But she doesn't reply back right away. "Hello?"

Liam's eyes go wide. _Oh God._ "Ambulance! Ambulance! Ambulance amb—"

The operator stays quiet. Interference seems to build. Static. "Amb—nce?"

Liam's heart is pumping a mile a minute. Begging as loud as he can, "Yes!!"

"Hello? H—llo?" The static drowns her voice bit by bit. Ca—...—me?" Until it disappears.

"Hello?! Please I need help! I need an ambulance!" And Liam just rambles in a panic, pacing back and forth, "M-My boyfriend's— he's had an overdose! He's on the floor he won't move!" Still nothing, no reply, only static. And there's only the hope that someone will hear him somehow, even if he can't hear them. "We're at uh... uh!" _What's the fucking address?!_ Liam shuts his eyes, trying to think. But he can't remember. "332 West... Uh.... 332 West...bin— bury?" And then it hits him. "Wait wait!"

Liam races to the kitchen counter where Louis's hoarded up all his mail.

"We're at 332 Westbury Road i-in Doncaster! South Yorkshire! Hello?! We need an ambulance! Hello?! Hello?! Fuck!" Liam throws the phone onto the ground. And he regrets that immediately. He's so impulsive. Quickly his attention goes back to Louis as he runs back.

Louis's moved.

"Oi!"

He's on his knees, barely. Face buried into the sleeve of his jacket. By the time Liam's reached him he just falls onto his side again. Liam can see the vomit he left behind. He tries not to curse, tries to be calm this time. This time it's really getting to him. Wrecking his nerves, shaking him from the inside. The hospital is less than ten minutes away and that's of comfort. It's the only comfort. He wishes, more than anything, that he could wipe the sweat from Louis's face, help him vomit up however many pills he took. Liam can't really stand to look at him. He gets down by his side, on his knees, face buried in his arm.

"You've really gone and fucked up this time..." he whispers, tears spilling onto his skin. "Why'd you have to go and do that?" Liam thought he'd appreciate it. But he really can't. And he can't even imagine it. All he can really imagine is petting Louis's hair, all the ways he'd save him. It's not worth being angry. He doesn't care anymore. In his head he's got Louis's head in his arms, fingers on his throat so he can make sure there's a pulse. "You can't fucking die here. Alright?" Liam wipes his face, trying to steady his voice so he doesn't sound phased. "You b-better not."

Liam turns his head up to look at Louis's chest, his stomach, to make sure there's movement, that he's still breathing. But it's becoming harder and hardet to tell. He's resorted to checking if there's breath coming through Louis's nose by placing his finger just above his lip. And he keeps checking the door, he keeps checking outside. All there is is rain, all he can hear is water. Something has to change. Something has to make a difference.

"You can't die here, Louis... You'll be okay." But that's probably not what he wants to hear— if he could hear him. Liam wonders if he's just being selfish. If deep down he still believes Louis is the only one who can help him leave this place, and without him he's a permanent drifter trapped in some mirror world. And that it's all he wants from him. Liam doesn't know. He really doesn't.

It doesn't really kill him to say,

"I'm sorry." Puppy dog eyes, sniffing, lying down next to Louis so he can stay close and make sure he isn't gone yet. He blinks one look to Louis's face to know he can't handle doing it again. Liam's sorry about the table, about wanting to hurt him so bad, about getting his hands on him, about the argument on the day he died. Regardless of how wrong he might be for it. It can't make things worse than they are now. Just like it can't make them better. Resentment didn't get him anywhere but here, to hurting and hurting everyone else— his mother, his grandmother, Louis. Liam doesn't know what the point is in being so angry. He doesn't know what the point of anything is. How could he possibly be angry? Never. Not when he's watching Louis die. Drenched in sweat and turning a sickly pale that's nearly green. Liam feels weak for it. He just wishes he could hold his hand, or just wipe the sweat off his face. Anything.

_Knock knock knock_

"Hello?"

They're here.

"Hello?! Paramedics!"

Liam lifts his head expecting to see ambulance lights out the window facing the road. But there's nothing.

_Knock knock knock_

He races to the door as fast as he can.

But it won't open. "Fuck!" He slams his hand on it. That seems to startle the paramedics outside.

"Oh! Hello?" A woman. "We're the paramedics, we're here with the police. We've received a call about an emergency."

Liam slams his hands on the door, wiggling the doorknob to get it to open. "Help!" But they don't say anything.

"Someone's at the door there?"

"I'm not seeing anybody from the windows."

"You know what I'm just gonna..."

The door opens. Liam quickly jumps back.

There's the paramedics. And the police too. He's never seen them up close before. Liam can feel the blood rushing through his body a mile a minute. There's two police officers; two men. And behind them are the paramedics; three women, one man. Someone has a chatty radio but Liam can't make out what it says. They're slow, attentive. The police step in first.

"Hello?" The man in front snaps his head down at the crunching of glass under his foot. "Careful here."

"Looks like someone's made a mess," his partner comments.

Liam worries they'll think it's a crime. "Would you hurry up?!" he shouts, frustrated at their wariness. Soon enough they're all inside. Three of the paramedics carry bags, looking around as they step inside.

"The call came from here," one of the paramedics says, confused.

"Let's check the bedrooms."

"No nono! It's here!!" Liam runs back over to the living room, stomping on the floor to catch their attention. But it doesn't come through. "Oi!!" He starts to cry again, desperately. Terrified. He hits the walls, the couch, but they still don't turn around. All he can do is keep going, exhausting the breath inside him.

"Did you hear that?" One of the paramedics stops. She turns around and faces the living room, furrowing her brow. Liam's eyes go wide making more noise to draw her near, not knowing how much of what he's doing she can see. The truth is she can't see anything at all. But she leaves to investigate anyway, drawing near to the living room quickly. She's the first one to find Louis.

"He's over here!"

"Yes!" Liam cheers, hurrying back to Louis's side as he watches them all come over. From the kitchen one of the officers says,

"We'll check the rest of the flat." Not really waiting for any cue to go on their way.

The paramedics lay down their bags before getting on their knees around Louis. They wear dark green shirts, trousers, and dark blue gloves; the women with their hair slicks back into ponytails to stay out of the way. Two are blonde and stocky, one is brunette with a stronger build. The man looks older than them all, with glasses and a gut.

The younger blonde woman is the one who had the sense to check the living room first. She moves over to Louis's head. "Sir, can you hear me?" she asks in a sweet, gentle voice as she moves Louis on his back.

"Right, we've got some vomit here."

"Looks like an overdose."

Liam expected them to be more agitated. But it's nothing like in the movies. It's so routine to them. So quiet and calm. Plastic bags crinkling, velcro snapping, zippers opening and closing. A cluster of tiny, quiet sounds. That doesn't seem to comfort Liam at all, pacing around them, watching Louis just lie there pale.

"He's not responding."

His brow is furrowed tight as tears run down his eyes, his hands clasped together in an empty prayer as he keeps them pressed to his lips. A monitor is pulled from one of the bags. Two white pads with wires attached to them are brought out next. Liam doesn't expect it when one of them cuts right through Louis's shirt with a pair of scissors. _It's that bad?_ he thinks. _What are they going to do?_

"He's not breathing. Checking for a pulse." Fingers to Louis's neck. "No pulse."

Liam's breath stops. "What?"

"Starting CPR." And she places her hands on the left side of his chest, pumping down to try and get his heart working. Soon the brunette woman sticks one white pad on Louis's upper right side, the other on the lower left side of his abdomen, the cable of each leading into the monitor. Meanwhile the other blonde girl lifts Louis's head to get an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose.

"Let's get the monitor charged to 360 joules," the older paramedic says as he tends to the defibrillator.

"Is he dead?" Liam whispers to himself, not believing it as he gets down on his knees. "Louis?" He's not really dead... he thinks to himself, not bothering to wipe his watered eyes as he looks at Louis. Lying there quiet and unstritted. Liam can't wrap his head around the belief that this is really what death looks like. He expected it to be greater, more powerful. That the walls would all come coming down and something dramatic would happen. "You're still in there, yeah?" That has to be why. "You're not gone yet darling, come on..." he whispers to him.

"...9, 60. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 70. 1, 2, 3..." The blonde paramedic giving Louis CPR counts under her breath for every pump she presses down over his chest. Liam just hears his own panting, his own whimpers. Everything goes on faster, the air heavier around him as he watches them all closely. There's a single loud beep that comes from the monitor like it's starting up. Everything on the screen at zero. Nothing but flat lines. They mumble amongst themselves, tying and sticking equipment onto Louis. The blonde girl by the bag grabs the oxygen mask on his face, twisting on a plastic bag at the very bottom that stays still. No movement, no breath. Liam keeps trembling, trying to stay out of the way like it matters.

"...4, 5, 6, 7, 9, 80. 1, 2, 3, 4..."

The older male paramedic puts gel over over each defibrillator paddle and grabs the handles.

"...4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 100." The blonde woman doing CPR steps back. Liam's face coils for a tight, mortified sob. Backing away as far as he can and running to another side of the living room with closed eyes and held breath.

"Clear."

The horrible deep thud of a body that's failed to resuscitate.

"Still no pulse."

"For f-fuck's sake! For fuck's sake!" Liam doesn't know what to do, sobbing as he hurries way from the scene. The police officers emerge from the hallway, and in his daze fails to get out of their way, each man speeding right through him as they make their way to the paramedics. From behind him he can hear the police officers talking with the paramedics, their voices fainter as he distances himself away. His mind has numbed into a foggy quiet, and he's resigned to just wiping his eyes and walking. Nothing he can do anyway. His feet give up on him once he's in Louis's room. Against the wall he feels himself fade inside his body, and he slides down onto the floor. Struggling to breathe, palms wiping at his burning eyes.

"It's my fucking fault..."

It's just what he wants to say. What he can't help himself from saying. It pulls on his reigns and drives him into guilt and Liam can't question it. Not when he's crying. Not when he's so overwhelmed. He can feel the room buzzing around him like pressure, like it's pressing down on him. His skull throbs, a sharp ringing in his ears killing the world around him until it he's deaf to everything except death.

In the distance, all that chatter. "We've checked the whole flat. Doesn't seem to be anyone else here, but we did find this in the bathroom sink. Along with an empty bottle of Vodka, about 750ml."

And footsteps.

"A zolpidem overdose mixed with alcohol?"

The creaking of the door.

"Looks to be."

And,

"Liam?"

It feels like dying all over again. Really dying.

"You're here?"

He's looking at him in the eyes for the first time all over again. Liam doesn't breathe. His attention fuses itself to the doorway and suffocates everything. His eyes are glassy, red and wide in horror. In heartbreak. His body won't move a muscle. It all feels hollow on the inside, carving away wider with every blink he gives.

"Shit!" A little laugh. He's so happy to see him. That elven Peter Pan smile. "I've missed you, Li."

"No..."

Louis hears that. And his smile softens into a gentle sundown. He brings his fingers up to fix his fringe nervously, looking around his bedroom to avoid Liam's gaze for a bit as he thinks, shifts his weight on his feet. Everything about him is so delicate. Shy. In his soft grey sweatpants, and the Iron Maiden tshirt they cut open to shock his dead heart. Liam's breathing comes back quivering inside him, his brows tight and curved just slightest bit upward. It's the most devastating thing— Louis can see him. And Liam knows why. He can hear it.

"Let's give him 1mg of epinephrim."

"Get that monitor charged to 75."

"Clear."

And Louis's still here. He's walking over to Liam a little bit, looking down at him sitting on the floor. He gives him another smile. Less casual, less friendly. He can feel him; his color, his life— all of it is deception. A cruel, horrifying imitation that's split from what's real. Louis looks so nervous. All his tics. Licking his lips, rubbing his hands over each other. "You know that I love you, right?" He smiles. "Liam?"

"You have to leave."

Louis frowns. Everything about his aura changes and Liam can feel it all splinter. Like he hurt it. "What?" Louis tries to hold everything back and inside. "Why?"

Liam gets up from the floor and pushes past him to storm out the door, yelling angrily, "You can't be here!"

"But I _wanna_ be with you..." Louis won't be angry. He won't argue or bicker. He's so gentle and friendly and that somehow makes Liam feel worse. He wants him to stop talking to him, stop seeing him. He wants Louis to live. "What are you talking about?"

 _He needs to see his body_ , Liam tells himself. "You have to fucking _leave_." His tone is cold and keeps its distance in mean isolation. It's forced. All of it is. Liam runs away from Louis like light breaking away from the sun, with no destination to make it justified. Liam just wants him to see the truth. He hurries to the paramedics as they still struggle to bring him back into the real world. His body dead in his living room as the world fights to save his life. And Liam stands by the scene, sweating, forcing Louis to see. The veil of anger flushes back in his eyes and he tells Louis, "You can't _be_ here."

Louis stays quiet for just a moment, not even breaking from Liam's gaze. "Where?" He's sorry for asking, smiling wistfully with a shrug. "What do you mean?"

Liam's expression goes limp in the impact. "You d—?"

"Let's get him 300mg of amiodarone."

"I'm switching to bag valve mask."

"...8, 9, 40. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6..."

"I'm not getting anything," one of the paramedics say. "Let's try one more time."

Louis can't see any of it. He doesn't see his own dead body on the floor. He doesn't know he's dead. _What does he think is happening?_ Liam starts crying again and it only drives him to sound angrier to mask it.  Just like those boys sending away their dogs in the movies. Liam manages to feel more pathetic than he could've ever imagined for it. Because he doesn't know what screaming at Louis will do. Louis really can't leave anywhere. It's pointless. And that feeling burns tenfold. "Are you fucking _listening_ to me?!" he screams, his face turning a deep, furious red. "Go away!!"

"Liam..." It goes on hurting Louis. And he's trying to sound so kind and gentle, not wanting to make himself upset. He gives a weak little laugh, scratching at his hair. "Why are you saying that? Come on, I—"

"Leave!!" Liam backs away from him. Feigning cruelty, feigning rage. He can hear the defibrillator going off again.

"Clear." A deep thump. With no heartbeat. No life.

"He's still flatlining," the young blonde paramedic says as she goes on pumping oxygen through Louis's nose mouth. The brunette woman is pumping Louis's chest now. Counting her pumps as she fights to give him life again.

"One more shot of epinephrim. 1mg." The older man announces as he sticks a needle through Louis's arm for the second time. "Come on mate..."

Louis doesn't hear him. He doesn't know.

Liam's voice cracks. "I don't want you here! Don't you fucking see that?!" And it hurts.

Louis's eyes are hushed from sentiment, staring into his eyes in a warm, watering quiet. His mouth hangs open because he's trying to say something. Blinking, folding his arms across to grab at his elbows. A deep breath given to himself as he casts his eyes down at the ground.

It's not working.

"I'm not getting anything..." one of the paramedics says quietly, hand on the defibrilator monitor that's failed to catch a heartbeat even once.

And Liam cries out like he hates him. "I don't fucking _want_ you here!!" Walking backwards again. I'm sorry. "Leave!"

And Louis steps back quietly. Not bursting into anything, not crying. That's just the way it's always been with him, Liam realizes. At least when it really matters. He'd do anything for him. Placing his steps backwards as he looks back into Liam's eyes. And Liam just has to wonder, sobbing as he wipes his red face. Does Louis know how good he is? I miss you too, he'd tell him. Tell him a million times. Even if he killed him. Even if everything that's happened is his fault. Even if deep down he deserves to die.

"He's gone."

Louis just softly, solemnly understands everything wrong with a nod. "Okay." Because it's what Liam wants.

" _Leave!!_ "

So he leaves.

"I've got a pulse."

Louis's life is saved. His heart beats slow but it's there again. The police officers give a cheer behind Liam, and he turns around to see. Smiles on their faces at the success of their labor. That must be such a wonderful feeling. Liam can't relate. He can't relate at all. He feels like he's standing on shards instead of a solid world. His ears are still ringing. His face damp with sweat, the air in his lungs still labored. The paramedics gather up their equipment and it all muffles away into obscurity. Liam forgets to say goodbye. Sound and real awareness of what's around him depart when the team is out the door, having taken Louis with them.

And Liam lets himself collapse in his exhaustion right in the middle of the living room, curling over to hyperventilate onto the floor. And that's the only sound that exists. He's alone. For the first time in almost five months, death is all that reigns. The flood, the rain— it doesn't come back.

 

  
_It's been sixty days_  
_Since the black sky opened up the food-gates._  
_Fell down hard on the sun-stained fair-grounds._  
_Held back any_  
_recollection_  
_of the bloodshed_  
_somehow._  
_And now_  
_This unending rain_  
_Stopping short on the surface of the watery graves_  
_Is another, even nicer, simpler sort of silence these days._

_Don't be so afraid of the insomnia plague._

_This is what he wrote in the ripped-up note:_  
_I've become something even less than a ghost._  
_Even more of a thought, I've become a mirage._  
_I'm the shaky air encircling the flickering flame._  
_I'm the white wall swallowing the window frame._

_Don't be so afraid of the insomnia plague._

_—Sea Oleena_


	6. The Insomnia Plague

"Have you watched Bridge To Terabithia?"

"The bridge to what?" Liam snorts. "What is that? A place?"

"No, it's a movie." There's a nice laugh with no such sharpness to make Liam feel stupid for asking. A pleasant change, though it's been a common one all night. "You've never watched it? With the kid from Hunger Games uh... what's his name— Peeta? Well he's not a kid, obviously. But the movie's quite old— Bridge to Terabithia. So... he was a kid then. Back then."

Liam doesn't say anything, opting instead for a quiet listen as he watches the steps of his shoes pitter and patter on the damp asphalt. 

But that doesn't suit Louis so much. He just _has_ to make noise. He stutters a bit, trying to find his way back to words prior for a recap of what he was even trying to say. His pretty eyes wandering all around him in a fidget. "Anyway uh... You still haven't, like... Doesn't ring a bell?" He turns his head to Liam, waiting for his response.

"Well what's it about?"

Louis makes a sort of cringe as he thinks to himself, finding the question rather complicated. But it's his nerves— Liam can tell. His words don't flow right, and his mind trips as it struggles to tie his thoughts into a proper train. It's mean of Liam to find it satisfying— how desperately Louis offers conversation as if he were on his knees, begging for the attention Liam's got him starving for. Liam turns his head to his right to where Louis walks right beside him through the moonlit car park. He hasn't stopped talking to him since they walked out of the venue, plaguing him with that nervous chatter. Like a bug flying into glass as it tries to get through. Never really understanding why he can't.

Liam didn't enjoy the Black Sabbath concert. But that's because he'd already made up his mind prior to attending that he would hate it regardless. More of a promise. 

There's so many people surrounding them; the event over, the band now gone. Quiet footsteps and the manly muttering of heavy metal enthusiasts fill any silence. There's no opportunity for closeness between Liam and Louis. The setting marks the space between them with a filter— friends, not boyfriends. Not for a surrounding crowd of Black Sabbath fans. They have to put effort into remembering, with situations like these not coming as often as they used to. _That'll have to wait_ , Liam tells himself in regards to their usual pet names, and the fondling of held hands.

But it's really such a complicated thought to come naturally; burdened with technicalities that need to be addressed. Boyfriends— are they really? Do they _have_ to be? It doesn't seem fair. Liam wouldn't want to hold his hand anyway.

"I really don't know how to describe it to you, Liam. To be honest with you."

 _Was that about the movie?_ Liam wonders. He isn't paying attention. He sighs and begins digging through his pocket for his car keys.

"I mean, I wouldn't know how to describe it to you without spoiling a bit of it, yeah? It's one of those movies you have to watch without actually knowing anything about it. To really uh... I guess... _get_ the feel of it, you know?"

Liam presses the button of his car alarm to locate his car. But he can't hear anything. A bit more tense, he squeezes the button as his gaze darts across the sea of cars. No beep, no sound. Dozens of rows, hundreds of vehicles. Liam can't make out the models in the dark, especially not his lowrider. He raises his hand in the air and presses down on the car's lock button again and again, desperately waiting for the honk of its handsome little horn. But nothing comes no matter where Liam waves his hand around. Louis just keeps talking on, apparently indifferent to his distress. And the idea frustrates Liam. It's only okay when he's the one doing the ignoring. 

But it's when his flailing arm nearly hits a passing woman in the face that Louis pulls him aside. "What's wrong?" he asks casually, lightly. He was paying attention— actually.

"I'm not hearing my fucking car alarm, that's what's wrong," Liam mutters angrily behind gritted teeth to let Louis know he needs to show more concern. He doesn't spare him a single glance as he steps away and hurries around the car park. Hand held high, trying to locate his missing car. 

It isn't really surprising that he can't find it. _Someone stole it_ — the thought glows in his head in large font. It's a fate he'd already been preparing for, albeit dismissively from a dose of optimism. More of a consideration. But it seems very real now. And Liam would be an idiot to believe otherwise. He's already an idiot for walking into the situation in the first place. "What the fuck did I expect..." he snorts bitterly. His heart races, his face now marked with tight anger he'll deny is forced for show.

Louis hurries to stand by his side and offer a positive outlook. "You're probably just too far away," he tells him. Liam keeps hurrying off close to the passing of exiting vehicles with no concern for his surroundings. A Toyota drives particularly close by, and a worried Louis yanks him out of the way angrily. "Oi! Fucking watch where you're going!" 

_That's better._ A reaction from Louis— that's satisfying. Liam jerks his arm away from his touch, but stays still as he stands in front of him and drops his hand. 

"What's wrong with these two..."

"I think someone stole his car..."

The scattered crowd of concertgoers are looking at him. He's starting to make such a scene; the price for baiting a reaction out of Louis. _It's not just that. I really am angry._ A look over his shoulder makes him aware of a group of eight burly men snorting as they point to him and laugh. At his reaction— of course. Logic tells him to stop, but his spite is telling him to continue. It only frustrates him more, his motive suddenly muddled. Still pressing down over and over on his car's remote control like it'll work with his hand dropped down to his side. "Fuck," he curses a little too pathetically, and in reference to more things than he anticipated. 

Liam places his hands at his waist as he looks around the car park surrounding them. A quick glance at Sheffield Arena, the night sky murky behind the dark silhouette of the building. "Someone stole my car." Louis should know what he's feeling. He's looking forward to the guilty look on Louis's face. But mostly he needed to remind himself of his own motive. _This is why you're angry. Remember that._ His emotions are branching into different places and it's making a mess, making him confused. 

"No one stole your car."

"Yes they did," he insists in a whisper, face stoic. Refusing to look at Louis.

Louis's looking up at Liam, speaking in a calm voice Liam can't help but find patronizing. "Did you ever think you're just not close enough?" He isn't taking him seriously. Hands in his hoodie's pockets, the jerk of his head flipping his fringe to the side. "Look how fucking big this place is."

Unacceptable. So Liam scoffs quietly, murmuring with eyes cast away. "Or, just maybe, someone outside a Black Sabbath concert in the middle of the fucking night stole my _Lamborghini_. Maybe," he shrugs, fuming with cynicism and a clenched jaw. "I don't know, Louis. What do you think?" That handsome, handsome 2008 Lamborghini Gallardo.

Louis forces virtuosity upon himself and blocks the snarky comment begging to burst through in retaliation. "I think you should wait until you start getting pissed off, alright?" His voice is still quiet, eyes hued with a tired gaze. "Maybe you're in the wrong section, yeah?" 

Liam presses on as he looks away. "I parked here, Louis. It was in this section. I remember." 

"Alright, now..." Louis takes a deep breath, letting it go as he turns around to inspect the car park and say, "I don't think so. I remember us being a lot closer to some trees. Some of these little trees uh...over there."

Liam doesn't want to look. "It wasn't over there."

"Give me the keys, will you?"

He turns his head to see that Louis's holding his hand out, "What for?" It's unnecessary to ask. But Liam wants an opportunity to reject him.

"I'm gonna check over there, real quick."

"I didn't fucking park there," he insists. Though he isn't lying. Liam really does believe his luxury Lamborghini was stolen in a public car park at 11pm— it's less likely it didn't. But any other day he would be drawing comfort from Louis's calm voice and assurance that everything would be fine. The patronizing tone is more likely a figment of his own imagination. Louis's so smart, so logical. It's something of an act of rebellion now, how Liam stubbornly disagrees with him whichever way he can.

"Liam, please give me the keys. Alright? Don't get in a fuss."

"Don't tell me what to fucking do."

But Louis ignores him. "No one's stolen your car." 

He can't do that. 

"And if they did—"

"It's your fault."

It stunts Louis successfully. He furrows his brow just a bit with a quiet stutter and an exasperated sigh, shifting his weight to his other leg. Finally. Liam's hit a good nerve and he's glad. _Are you caring now? Do you see how angry I am at you? Do you feel bad yet?_ Louis doesn't say anything as he smothers the backtalk he's dying to bark in Liam's face. 

"'Pick me up in your Lambo, will you?'" Liam mockingly, angrily, quietly reminds Louis of his own statement. He convinces himself it's rightful, natural blame. That he really does hold Louis accountable for his stolen car, and that he should. He was the one who wanted a ride in the Lambo, a special night out. He always loved riding in the 'Batmobile'. It's not the first time. Liam was always inviting. _It's not his fault. No one put a gun to my head to take it out. I knew the risk_ — but those thoughts aren't appropriate. Liam pulls away the weeds and guilts Louis again. "Remember that?" Hungry for a reaction to satisfy his need for punishment onto him, or at the least trigger an argument. 

"...Keys, please."

But Louis doesn't budge. Eyes cast to the ground, hand still out like a beggar as he asks that Liam hand him the keys to his car so he can find it himself for him.

Liam slaps it in his hand with a frown Louis doesn't even see. He just closes his fist around his keys and darts away into the other side of the car park. 

_What if he does find my car?_ "Fucking prick." Why is he, though? What has he done? 

Liam has to rewind to the day he got issued a ticket for possession of Louis's mostly-empty bag of marijuana on June 26— the day his career as a nurse had its wings clipped before ever leaving the nest. _Yeah. That's right_ , he thinks in a memo. That's all this is about. It's about it being Louis's fault. That sounds quite righteous, that sounds severe enough to warrant his rage. So he won't feel bad, he won't feel stupid. "Yeah..." Liam whispers to himself as he fidgets in place, his handsome face looking moody under the hard lighting of the light posts. 

It all happened so sudden and innocent. A routine vehicle check turned severe by an unfortunately pure coincidence.

_"No no wait that's not my weed."_

_"Step out of the vehicle, sir."_

_"Listen, I don't know how that got there! That's not mine!"_

_"Out of the vehicle!"_

Louis said he was sorry. He must've left the bag in the backseat; drunk and faded on the night Liam picked him up from a house party to take him back home. Liam appreciated his honesty. But Louis never took blame for the bag of weed— not legally. He hasn't stepped foot in the police station, even when Liam asked. But he's taken responsibility for the £90 fine with an extra hundred of compensation for the following damages. _"Yeah? We good?"_ And Liam said, _"Well, alright,"_ and dismissed the option of rancor available to him for the rest of the day. Louis's got such a good way with words— and just the nicest smile. But a feeling— a heavy, aching, itching feeling— began to bloom outside the realm of Liam's power. Things of words unspoken, and conflict not quite resolved. A wound that just wasn't patched up right flaring up, sparking an ache through Liam's body until it burst at 9:56pm of that same day. A heated argument in the middle of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets while cuddled up on the couch. Because it's then that Liam realized. 

The scope of the damage caused by that simple criminal charge cements a dark stain on his incubating career as a nurse. No hospital will want to hire a nurse who was found with _drugs_ — of course. Application denied— obviously. How could it not? And Louis being so generous enough as to pay the fine doesn't change the fact that he's still _actually_ letting Liam take the blame for a crime he had no part in. That's the truth. The reality.

_"Love, you have to tell them it was you. Alright? You have to come with me down to the station and explain everything to them. Or else my career is over."_

_"No way."_

_"What?"_

_"I said no. I'm not gonna do that. It was your car. It's not my fault."_

And Louis boldly laughed off the claim completely. Liam argued again, demanding Louis acknowledge the serious consequences he left behind. But Louis just rolled his eyes, rejected responsibility the size Liam was suggesting, and instead offered to buy Liam a pizza so he would cease the hissyfit. And he just ignored him from thereon out. Everything he said. Liam remembers turning red because he was screaming so much. Louis was pretending he didn't exist; big sigh as he raised the volume, trying to watch Ron and Harry fly in the Ford Anglia. 

So Liam left. To his parents'. Louis bitched and laughed about it, mocking Liam for being dramatic. That certainly didn't stop him. 

A game of chicken. Who's more macho.

For two days Louis didn't express regret or a single crumb of longing. Liam was just burning inside. Devastated by the reality of his ruined career, and enraged with every replay of Louis's mockery. Humiliation and a challenging sort of pain drove him to take action. So he changed his Facebook status to single. And in less than an hour Louis was blowing up his phone with text messages and missed calls. On and on, day after day. Those have been the best four days of summer. Liam's never felt power quite like it. He remembers thinking just yesterday, _Is this what it felt like when he was bullying me?_ But that didn't feel so good, all too suddenly. So Liam answered Louis's call today. And he was glad, missing Louis too. Until that stopped feeling good, too. 

_You fucking idiot. You gonna take him back just like that?_

And he was angry all over again.

 _You're not over it. You're still angry. What he did wasn't okay._

Liam can't actually pinpoint why that continues to be so important. What end is he trying to get at? Louis won't go to the police station now. Liam can't count the number of times he broke character at the Black Sabbath concert, having a chat with Louis while they ordered beer and laughed off the evening's shenanigans. But he would remember his motive suddenly and go cold again. The more he saw that Louis could see through it, the stronger he became with his front. Until he was silent for the later half of the concert and now cements himself as a cold _ex_. Louis's a bit upset. So small, shrinking into submissiveness for every out-of-character sting of rejection he's met with when he tries to be affectionate with his once docile, forgiving boyfriend. _You're wrong, I'm still mad. Feel bad yet?_ Louis is so confused, and Liam is so glad. But he isn't confused enough. He isn't hurt enough. 

Liam could've moved on the way he always had. 

_"How are you still not talking to him? Jesus, Liam, it was a fine."_

_"Don't you think you're overreacting? Mate, with all due respect, I mean... it was an accident."_

_"I just don't see how it's such a big issue, Liam."_

But the more his reaction was stressed as trivial, the more he grew into the shape of resentment and stubborn insistence until he was lying about nearly all the things he was angry about. If his entire friend circle wasn't so dismissive, expecting him to shrug and accept the consequences _Louis's_ actions have applied to _his_ life, then Liam wouldn't have been so angry. He wouldn't be turning happy memories into bad ones just to rack up the stockpile. But he's argued to himself that it's his own fault. Not theirs. Their attitude isn't anything new. Liam's always belittled, one way or another. And he's never been one to stand up for himself. Everyone's been conditioned to the setting they administer their point of views from, and he'd been fine with it until now. But it was just too serious this time. He couldn't possibly be passive. Not this time.

So then, really, all Liam wants is to prove something about his own character. It's about him. Not Louis. It'll stop when Liam feels he's finally seen in a different light. A rebrand, so to speak. A rebrand fifteen years too late. 

Those are just such big shoes to fill. Making a mountain out of a molehill; blowing things out of proportion. Using an argument with Louis as a means to enlighten his entire persona.

How contrived. It's no surprise Liam can't keep up with his own motives. Especially when he doesn't admit to them more than half the time. Liam's good at lying, but forming a coherent storyline that warrants the day-to-day living of a separate person carves a space too big for anything in his life to fit. It's become so hard to stay so angry and be so mean. Even if it's only been a week. He keeps forgetting what he's hoping to achieve. Everything has become so simulated. He easily holds the capacity to thank Louis for setting out to search for his car, but he denies it. He admits that. But just when he thinks he's ready to pull the plug on the act, something happens to make him hungry for revenge again.

Reving up the vengeance engine behind the wheel, ready to blast off into a race. The vibration of the motor, the thrill of the gas petal— Liam doesn't know where it's going. _What's your plan again?_ he asks himself, turning his head up to try and find where the moon sits in the sky. A full moon— but it's so small, hidden mostly by passing clouds. "Maybe I'm a werewolf..." he mumbles stupidly, already regretting the fact it prompted a giggle from a punk couple walking by. "Don't fucking laugh at me."

"Fuck you."

Liam must look so stupid in his Pacman bomber jacket and light-wash jeans. _How many people must've laughed at me?_ he wonders. _How stupid do I fucking look right now?_ He blames Louis for making him come. He blames him for a lot of things, suddenly. Forcefully.

_Beep beep!_

"Oh that is fucking niiice."

"Ha, a fucking Lambo. Fucking Batmobile, eh?"

Louis was right. The Lamborghini was parked by the trees, closer to the venue. Far, far away where the alarm couldn't get a signal. No one stole a thing. And as Louis drives up to him, Liam can see the glossy black body gleam under the moonlight without a single scratch on that handsome paint job. No harm done. Louis steps out, leaving the door open for Liam as he walks around the front and sits down in the passenger seat. Liam slips inside behind the wheel without a word. 

He owes Louis an apology. 

It doesn't come. Not as he drives out of the Sheffield Arena car park. And not as he gets on the freeway. 

They're not exes. At least Louis keeps acting that way. He acts like they're not even separated. _You're wrong_ — why does Liam think that? Why does he want to break up? He didn't want that in the beginning. He's carrying out action without enough thought. The more he's aware of his own idiocy the more he takes it out on Louis. It's all so stupid.

Silence fills the limited car air with enough tension that Liam has to reach over to turn on the car radio. "You're listening to BBC Radio 1!" Here by Alesesia Cara starts to play. Liam will argue it's a terrible tune solely for the subject matter. _"For fuck's sake, why doesn't she just go home then?"_ But it's good for driving. The night is nice, objectively. Sunday means there isn't heavy traffic. Liam doesn't have to worry about crashing his pricey sportscar through a busy freeway. They should be home quickly. It'll take a little more than forty minutes to drive home to Louis's flat— their flat. Home— does it have to be?

_"They said on the news that there was a storm coming and everyone got scared so uh..."_

_"That's crazy."_

_"It's happened before and nothing ever comes. And plus it's not coming for like a whole fucking week. It's just that everyone's left for vacation anyway so it was already, you know, pretty much half empty here. Now it's just legit deserted. Except there's me, cos, you know. I'm a twat I guess... But I do like the privacy, you know? I have to say..."_

_"You ought to take that seriously, Louis. I mean, at some point. You know, what if a storm really does come and you get caught up?"_

_"Well that's what you're for! You'll save me."_

_"Oh so it's a ploy to get me to move back?"_

_"It definitely could be. I don't know. Who knows."_

_"Although you are quite stupid."_

_"Listen, all I'm getting from this is that you are definitely moving back in with me. Am I right? Yes?"_

_"I don't know, Lou..."_

_"Where you belong. You belong with me."_

_"You just can't live without me."_

_"No I can't, actually. Can't live without you at all. I said I was sorry. And that I'd pay for the fine. I'll pay however much it is"_

_"Yeah yeah, you already said that."_

_"Right! So... yes to the concert?"_

_"Yes to the concert."_

_"Good! I want you to come over. To pick me up, at around 8. Can you make it?"_

_"Yeah."_

_"Pick me up in your Lambo, will you?"_

_"Alright."_

_"Yes!"_

_"Listen, I've gotta go. I've got class in a bit."_

_"Yes! Okay yeah yeah, of course, love. I'll see you tonight, yeah?"_

_"Yeah."_

_"Alright. Good. I love you."_

_"Love you too. Bye-bye."_

_"Bye."_

Liam sighs so big and deep he gets dizzy from the rush of oxygen, gripping his steering wheel tight like he's catching his balance. Louis and Liam will have to fight about him coming home. _Why did I agree?_ Remembering their conversation from this afternoon makes him feel like a failure. He agreed so easily, fallen right under Louis's spell. He'll admit that. Liam grew up in love with him— he can't unlearn the habit any more than he can unlearn how to read. It makes him feel like there's no battle to be won; Louis being victorious no matter what. Liam is just programmed to make it so. But thinking about that makes him furious. A challenge he won't back out of. A fight he just has to win. 

"Looks like it's gonna rain, eh? Babe?"

 _'Babe'— how dare he?_ "Yeah." Liam is an idiot for answering. Especially when he can't even tell anything from the dark sky. He gave in again.

"You think it's that storm I told you about?"

"Next week, was it?"

"Yeah but you know the weather." Louis looks up outside his passenger window as he relaxes into his seat. Liam takes advantage of that, turning his head for a sneaky look at his boyfriend. "She's unpredictable," Louis sighs. He looks so nice tonight. Any other day Liam would have told him so. His brown hair is gently spiked, enough to make him look playful. Though, Louis would argue the word is 'cool'. Black hoodie with tight black jeans and old black converse. And Liam sighs, turning his head back to look out at the road. 

Louis is the most beautiful person he's ever seen. He can say with utmost honesty that no one in that whole venue caught his eye the way Louis did. Small, charming, alive. So confident and sure of himself, with a Yorkshire accent he carries like no one else did that night. He can't imagine himself being in love with anyone else. Man or woman, for what matter. They've known each other since they were children. This must be a special breed of emotion; so strong and enduring. 

But of course Liam won't say that. It's out of the question. It's starting to rain. He turns on the wipers to the low setting, accommodating the weak drizzle blemishing the windshield. The radio is bothering him so he turns it off.

"Anyway I was watching Bridge to Terabithia earlier today. It reminded me of us."

Liam sighs. _Ignore him_ , on one side. _That's mean_ , immediately after. Ultimately he answers.

"What?"

"Bridge to Terabithia. They were giving it earlier today around the time you called me—"

"You called me."

Louis nods. "Right. Yeah. I called. You answered." He corrects himself with just a hint of dampness to his mood. He shifts his weight in his seat, giving a little stretch before starting again, "So, anyway, about the movie—"

"You still on about that?"

Louis chuckles. "I can't help thinking about it. Been on me mind."

_Why?— Don't ask._

But Louis takes it upon himself to break the silence. "They were these two kids, and they didn't get along well at first, yeah? He was sort of a loner and she was just really weird." His words are so gentle, his accent so fine. Murmuring, really. Narrating the story to make whatever point he has on his mind. "But they got really quite close and they made uh... this fucking world or whatever from their imaginations and that's where they would just chill out and all that. But they were just opposites, you know? He was shy, she was outgoing, he liked art, she liked writing—"

"Neither of us do art or write."

Louis's eyes seem vulnerable in that tiny glance he gives to Liam when he turns his head right. Surprised or hurt, otherwise. "You get what I mean," he chuckles before turning his attention back out the window. "It's like us when we were in school. We were just little kids and we didn't have anything in common."

"You bullied me." Liam doesn't know why he reminded him. He smooths out the soft dunes and keeps the surface flat, sharp, and cold in hopes Louis will stutter again. "You were a bully."

"That's not the point. It was just... forget it."

"Thanks. That made for a great story."

"Would you stop being so mean to me?"

Liam wasn't expecting a remark like that. It's the first time Louis's acknowledged the wedge between them that Liam so eagerly carves deeper with every second. His soft tone made the question so oddly abrasive. It isn't like him to be so small. Maybe Liam's making him nervous. He takes it as a good sign, despite the guilt rumbling in his chest. 

"I get it, you're still angry. You don't have to try so hard."

 _Try?_ Liam frowns. "Who says I'm trying?" 

"I say you're trying. You're always trying." He suddenly sounds so bored with it.

And Liam's angry. His guilt disappears. Louis's peeked his head behind the curtain again. Pointed out the truth again, left Liam feeling like a fool as he sits with his spoiled surprise— again. "You think I'm not actually angry?" he asks defensively. Voice low and quiet, hard and sharp on the outside as it pushes Louis away to make up for the embarrassment he makes him feel. "That what you did— that I-I just— just— I got over it?" He stammers and breaks character. So he gets mean to do damage control. "You think I'm a little bitch? You think I don't give a fuck about what you did to me?"

"I don't wanna fight, Li..."

He scoffs. "Too fucking bad." 

"I miss you. I just want things to be normal. I said I was sorry."

They've reached a red light. Liam stops more abruptly than he means to. 

He drops his hands from the steering wheel and lets them sit on his lap as he watches the cars in front of them pass by. What's he going to do? Louis sounds so pathetic it's a little unnerving. He doesn't like it and he has to tell himself not to care. Like a warning; a trap to be avoided. An idea at the edge of his mind that rehearses, _It's okay. Let's just forget about everything, yeah? We'll start all over, babe.. I'm sorr_ — "It's not like a coin where you just say sorry and things are back to normal." _What's Louis going to say?_ he wonders.

Louis takes just a moment. "Well I do want them back to normal." 

But he ruins it.

"What happened wasn't me fault."

Why did he have to say that? Liam snorts. "It was your fault."

"It was a fucking accident, Liam." Louis tries to look him in the eye, his brow furrowed just a bit in frustration. "It's not gonna change anything, you going on punishing me until you feel all big and bad."

_He's reading me like a book._

"Alright? You know I love you. And I know you love me. We both know that. So there's no use in you carrying out this little plan of yours."

Louis just sounds so smart and sure and Liam can't stand it. Even if he sees what he's trying to do, he's not seeing the bigger picture. The consequences and the stains of all those hurt feelings. _Think you're so clever?_ And Liam breaks, just a bit. "There is no plan, you smug little shit." There is. "There's no fucking _plan_!" But there's a sad kind of truth when he shouts, "I'm not gonna be your fucking lapdog forever!" Because he means it. It's why he turns his head to the left to glare at Louis. The red stoplight glows across his face but just barely. Accentuating that morose expression, his damp demeanor as they _fight_. And this is such a horrible argument. Liam should stop. There's too much of himself that's telling him to pull the reins and let peace come between them. "You really think some stupid fucking concert was going to fix everything?" It could have, if Liam let it. "Get over it, Louis. Would you? I'm pissed off and I'm not in any fucking hurry to run back into your arms. Alright? So just fucking deal with it." That sounded like a breakup.

"Green light."

Liam looks up. Green light it is. Louis said it with such limp emotion; bored. Liam steps on the gas petal so hard his back tires skid in a sharp cry as he speeds off down the freeway. The rain starts hitting a little harder, enough for Liam to twist the wiper's dial and change it to a higher speed. His face feels hot and tight like his skin is swelling.

 _When is it going to be enough?_ Liam asks himself, not knowing for how long he'll go on feeling wronged every time Louis offers him a window to come running back into his arms. "Why do you think you're so fucking indisposable to me?" He sounds so angry, his heart swelling two times too big every time it pumps blood through his body. He just hates Louis so much, the feeling coming to him as if released from a strenuous pull on a fat lever. "You that cocky? You think you're all that? Why do you think it's impossible that I don't wanna get back together with you? " _Why is this so easy for you to figure out?_

"Because you wanna marry me."

Like a green field cleared with weed killer. Suddenly Liam's farce is the most useless thing in the world. And he's the biggest idiot, too. His thick brows sit straight and flat above his eyes. The street lights go on to flash across his face every time his car drives on by. _I forgot about that_ , he thinks to himself. Half amused. Nearly endeared.

"Sorry," Louis apologizes with a cute little laugh as he bites his bottom lip, looking out the window. "I'm a snoop. I saw it in your browser history on your laptop."

That's why he was so sure.

"'Gay marriage laws yorkshire'" he laughs again. "That was... the same day you got busted for me weed— my weed, I admit it. It's me fault." He lets those words sink and burrow into the air. Marking it, transforming it forever. And then he says, "That was a fucking... week ago, Liam. Just one week. I don't think you're sensitive enough to hate me _that_ much over a fine."

"Sensitive." _Just let him talk._

Louis clicks his tongue, insisting with dear affection. "Come on. You know it's true."

"I'm just sensitive..." he repeats coldly in a mumble.

"You know, we love each other. I don't think you're being honest about how mean you keep acting. And how much you wanna pretend you don't ever wanna be with me again. Like... I'm sorry but..." He turns away. "That's what I think. Sorry it offends you. I'm not trying to be cocky or smug or whatever. I just know you."

_Yeah. I don't...know what I'm doing. To be quite honest. I've got... just, no clue. I feel like a fucking idiot because nothing's making sense to me. I just wanna make you angry and have you pissed off and I just don't know why. Genuinely. It's just getting to the point where... Like, Jesus, none of this is making fucking sense to me. I keep telling myself that I hate you so much and I just wanna hurt you so bad. But you're right, it's not honest. I'm trying so fucking hard to prove something and it doesn't even make any fucking sense. I'm just pissed and I'm such a fucking idiot and I'm sorry. I'm sorry I keep dong this and playing these stupid fucking games. I'm just such a fucking idiot. That stupid fine doesn't matter. It doesn't have to. I'm just fucking dramatic and it— I piss my fucking self off. Fuck... I'm sorry, Louis._

"It's always about me being sensitive, innit?" _Why did I say that?!_

Louis's face falls when he sees Liam didn't change his mind. He was so sure he would. Liam thought so too. His heart is beating so fast.

_You ruined it you fucking ruined it._

"Me overreacting, me being an idiot, you knowing everything, you talking down on me. You're just so sure, yeah? You just know everything about me?" _But Louis didn't say that._ "I'm this stupid fucking idiot who can't live without you and just fucking wants you and needs you all the time like I'm so fucking pathetic. Yeah, who's the pathetic one, Louis?"

Louis folds his arms across his stomach and stays looking out the window, watching the rain hit the glass.

"Who's the one blowing up my fucking phone every single day because you can't sleep without me? Who's the one inviting me to shit concerts trying to get back together? Who's the _desperate, pathetic_ one?" _Jesus, don't say that to him._ "You just need me to make yourself feel better. Treating me like shit being so fucking obnoxious and being such a fucking little shit because you need a fucking punching bag! You laugh at me! You act like what I feel is just a big fucking _joke_! Everything about me is a pathetic little joke to you—!"

"You need to stop for petrol."

"Y— _What?!_ "

"You're almost down to empty."

The tank. It's blinking. Liam slams his hand down on the steering wheel with a tight, red face and a frustrated growl. What can he say?

"You can pull over right here. Look—"

"Oh shut the fuck up! Fuck you!"

The tires skid again as Liam pulls into Texaco with a sharp turn left. It's empty, greatly reducing the chance of a car crash as a result of Liam's reckless driving. A circumstance to be thankful for, if Liam weren't breathing so hard. He slams his foot down on the breaks to park beside a fuel dispenser. He doesn't know why he really pulled over, even though it's an obvious reason that makes him a fool for asking. An exhausting, emotionally wrecked fool. Part of Liam just wanted to keep driving until he hit another car and him and Louis burst into flames. Louis just had the nerve— really, the nerve— to interrupt him the way he did. And what could he have possibly been thinking? He was angry, surely. After everything Liam told him. "You're such a fucking asshole," Liam fumes past gritted teeth again as he turns off his car and unbuckles his seatbelt. 

But Louis's got his off sooner. "I'll do it." He doesn't even sound angry. And in a split second he's slipped out of the car and shut the door behind him. 

The inside of a shut, turned off car feels like a pressure cooker when you're sitting in there angry and alone, with nothing but a cloud of rage and hot breath to fill your lungs. Liam feels like he's suffocating in the world all at once. His heartbeat throbs in his ears, his eyes throbbing like he's going to cry. 

But he screams instead. Liam beats his hand hard on his steering wheel with a growl, afterwards placing his palms over his face as he slumps forward and screams into his hands. Rubs his hands up and down his skin; pulling, yanking, groaning. Before finally sitting back and slumping in his seat. The car concentrates the sound of his breathing up to a jarring volume. Liam can't stand existing for just a second. It would be easier if the world just stopped existing for a moment, and none of this could ever possibly exist. Nothing would. 

But the world is very much spinning onward. And Liam's mind is running a marathon side by side with the beat of his heart. Every moment past now coming back to him in a cinemascope replay before his eyes. Liam can't help but reflect on what he said. And he said a lot. His heart hurts, almost. His throat tight like his words left a trail of tar on the way out. "What the fuck did I say..." _The truth_ , he tells himself. _He needed to hear it._ But it was so horrible. "Is that how I really feel...?" he whispers as he looks up at the ceiling of his car. And he just shakes his head, closes his eyes. The nausea swirling in his stomach is unbelievable. He's never spoken to Louis like that before. There's such a strong, radiant feeling of relief washing over him, and it only makes him feel worse. _I have to apologize._

For the first time, there isn't a conflict of interest. No smaller, sharper voice inside himself that objects and talks him out of a passive way to a resolution for the sake of war. Liam doesn't want to fight anymore. He's played with fire and dropped a spark in a tall forest. Now he's stomping on the ground, trying desperately to put it out.

_Tap tap!_

Liam jumps in his seat at the sound of his window being tapped. Looking out he can see it's Louis motioning to the fuel cap's lock button. Liam considers telling him something, though not daring looking him in the eye. It tastes important on the tip of his tongue. But he finds himself pushing the button quickly. Immediately, Louis is out of his sight. 

"Shit." Liam mouths as he looks down at his steering wheel. He goes through the same thought process over and over again. _I'm sorry. I'm not. Say you're sorry. Don't._ The smell of petrol snakes into the car in a toxic gas, leaving Liam in an even more punishing environment. And he wishes he could scream all over again. But then Louis would know he was right. And Liam just can't accept that— the only thought he's not conflicted about. He wonders what would happen if he did make another show of being upset. How would Louis interpret it? Would he keep ignoring him? Or ask him what's wrong? Liam wouldn't scream into his palms again even if he wanted to, though.

Louis's talking to someone outside.

Grey sweatpants and a matching hoodie. Bad posture. _How long as he been there?_ Liam can't see a face from the rearview mirror. Only the torso. He can tell they're taller than Louis already. Huddled too close to be a stranger. They mumble; most words inaudible. 

But it's what he _does_ make out that strikes him as odd. Maybe a bit distressing.

"Do you know what kind of fucking trouble I'm in because of you?"

"Keep your voice down."

"He's gonna fucking kill me."

"Fucking keep it down."

Liam turns his head back to try and look out the back window, his brow furrowed tightly and his brown eyes somewhat glassy. Not his most graceful, subtle gesture-- Louis and the guy go quiet. That's not helping ease Liam's mind. He turns back around with another silent curse and a blush across his cheeks. But a keen ear he keeps, and nearly right away the murmuring begins again. This time blurred, this time quick, this time angry. Liam's not supposed to hear. He figures the guy didn't know he was in the car. Where did he come from? Who is he? He'll have to ask Louis. He'll have to speak to him again. And he curses for the third time. 

Suddenly he hears the sound of the fuel cap being screwed back on before the distinct 'flap' of the lid being closed. When he looks at his rearview mirror, there isn't a figure to be seen. His hand reaches for the keys as he turns on his car and waits for Louis to get back inside. He looks at the fuel dial. Nearly full. That's a lot of gas. Awfully generous. Liam wonders if that's his way of apologizing, or if he's suddenly in debt to him. 

That train of thought is interrupted when Liam sees the mystery fellow Louis was arguing with pace away in front of him. Hoodie up, hands in his pockets. The passenger door opens and Louis quickly takes his seat before slamming the door shut. Liam starts driving away, eyes on the man as he walks into the pouring rain to go off on his way. Windshield wipers on, now. Liam drives by and the guy turns around. Awfully red and wet in the face, wiping his eyes with a frown. Liam must've stared for too long because he gives him a threatening cock of his head before turning his head to Louis. 

"Fuck you!" Enough of that scream makes it to the inside of the car. Enough for Liam to know how angry he is, cursing at Louis as they drive away. Liam gives a loud sigh to make up for the anxiety making his heart jitter with just the faintest taste of fear. It felt like he threatened them, but Liam worries he's just imagining things. 'Who was that?' he wishes he could ask. 'What did he want? Why was he crying?' Louis will say it's nothing anyway, if he'll want to speak to him at all. Liam decides he'll stay quiet and just focus on the road ahead. 

"Wanna tell me what that was about?" 

Sometimes it feels like he lacks the ability to have self control at all.

"Just uh..." Louis chuckles, rubbing his eye. "No one. A friend."

"Didn't look too friendly," Liam argues quietly before turning his head to Louis. Louis just purses his lips and shrugs. "What were you two arguing about?" _You're supposed to be giving him the silent treatment, you fucking idiot. Shut up._

"Nothing."

 _See? Now shut up._ "You don't have to lie. I heard you."

"Then why are you asking?" That was snarky. Louis's angry.

"Well I'm pretty sure your friend just threatened me—"

"No one threatened you."

"— and I'd really like to know why."

"You don't really wanna know. You're just gonna get all upset. I already have a headache."

"He said you had him in trouble." Like a card slapped to the table, the one that calls for the truth. Maybe the false belief that Liam heard everything will make him talk.

Louis sighs before admitting dismissively, "It was about the weed, alright?"

"The weed? What— the weed I got fucking busted for?" Liam feels his heart drop to his stomach. "Was that his?!"

"See, this is why I can't talk to you about anything. You just blow up, start crying."

"Are you in trouble?!" _Am I in trouble?_

"Jesus, of course not. Fuck. Look, he's me dealer—"

"Oh, dealer. Your drug dealer."

Louis rolls his eyes with an exhausted scoff.

"Let me guess, yeah?" Liam's voice is trembling, a senseless panic rippling the waters. "Wild fucking guess— _he_ knows that _I_ got busted for _his_ weed which _I'm_ guessing _you_ fucking stole." 

But the accusation comes as wildly offensive to Louis. Liam's phrasing was harsh and insulting. Brow furrowed, sitting up a bit, Louis yells at him. "I didn't steal shit, you fucking asshole! Alright?! He's a fucking idiot and he left a bag of weed at me place!"

Liam likes that he got him mad. And his anger subsides enough to soften his voice when he gives a mocking chuckle. "I'm sure..."

"Now you're calling me a fucking liar?! Eh?! You think I _stole_ it?!"

Liam laughs again. "Even if he left it and you took it that's still _stealing_ , Louis."

"The fuck— _if_?! That's the truth! It's what happened!"

"You should still pay him back if that's what he wants. What does he want, money?"

Louis turns his head to look out the window again. Jaw clenched, taking a deep breath to smooth out the wrinkles of his composure. "No I'm not paying shit, I told him."

But Liam can't meet him with the same serene disposition as before. Louis won't give the man what he wants— the dealer. That can't be good. That can't end well. Not when he cursed at Louis, not when he's already angry. Common sense says these aren't the kind of people you can have unresolved conflict with. Especially when it's enough to bring a man to tears.

_"Do you know what kind of fucking trouble I'm in because of you? He's gonna fucking kill me."_

Liam's panicking already. Is that driven by his own desire to blow things out of proportion? To prove a point? To be spiteful? The road suddenly looks so scary in the night, in the rain. He can't fake that.

"I told him it wasn't me. He doesn't even know it was me."

"He knows it was you."

"I told him to fuck off. He's just in debt and wants to pin it on me."

That sounds terrifying. Liam has to paint his words with sarcasm to mask the fragility of their meanings. "Great so you're in shit with a fucking _drug_ dealer you stole _drugs_ from."

"Oh for fuck's sake, Liam. He's not Tony fucking Montana coming at me because I lost 10 kilos of cocaine, alright? It was a fucking sandwich bag with a little bit of weed in it."

"That wasn't a sandwich bag! It was massive! It was a big, _big_ bag!"

"There was barely anything there."

"Because you fucking used it at a party, you shithead! It was a fucking huge plastic bag and it was practically fucking empty when it was in my car!" And Liam's voice cracks. It's humiliating enough he goes quiet, clears his throat.

"Would you rather it had been full? Fuck off. It's nothing." Louis drops his head back against his seat and looks out the window, mapping the situation as he tries to lay his frustration aside. Because underneath his own wounded feelings, his motive's only destination is to ease Liam's mind about this whole mess. Not a big deal— he will argue by whatever means necessary. But the path becomes crooked when his emotions flood the soil. His voice is still cold and spiked defensively— but still, it's quiet. And it speaks a casual sort of reason that belittles the situation with only the best intentions. "He's a fucking loser. I've known this bloke since we were 5 years old. He's a tosser, he's a whiner. There's a reason he's a dealer. I mean he's harmless. I know him."

Liam won't bite. "He looked fucking pissed off."

"He's always crying about something."

"He knows I got arrested for the weed."

"You didn't even get arrested. You got a fine."

Liam's panting, gripping the steering wheel too tight. Rambling, "He thinks I used up the weed, he thinks it's my fault."

"Jesus, Liam. This isn't some movie. This isn't a mafia." 'Think reasonably,' he begs with his head turned to look at Liam. "No one cares. Just some lads. People like to talk shit."

"You're lying."

Louis frowns, offended. And very seriously tells him, "I'm not lying."

"You got me involved in some fucking beef with a drug dealer, Louis! That's what you did!"

He throws his head back against his seat again and closes his eyes. "Fucking unbelievable..." he sighs.

"They saw me with you!"

"'They'?" Louis's laughing. "Who is 'they'?"

"Now they're gonna come for me!"

"For fuck's _sake_ , Liam!" Louis's reached a bit of a breaking point, reaching his hands up to claw at his scalp in frustration. " _Ugh_. Do you _hear_ how fucking ridiculous you sound?"

Liam bites his tongue hard. Eyes narrowed down at the road. They should be home in a few minutes— _home_. There's no _home_. Liam wants to go back to his parents' place and disconnect from nearly everything he knows. If he isn't disconnected already. But his racing heart lets him now he's horribly immersed in the situation. Drowning in it— suffocating as it balloons his lungs and leaves him blue. Where does he go from here? Liam's never felt like his body was dying from the inside before.

"Jesus, you sound so fucking stupid. It's unbelievable, the shit you always end up whining about. You know, just when I think you've reached the limit, you just raise the bar."

Every word's been like a bullet hole. A knife slicing through tissue and tendon until it reaches a place Liam didn't even know he could feel. He could cry, maybe. He doesn't know what he could do. Louis keeps mocking him and he feels like for every second he hears his voice his throat collapses another centimeter from the inside. Liam doesn't know the word for this. He's never felt anything like this in his life. Never so out of control.

"Now the Sheffield mafia's setting up bounty on your head at this very minute because I, the sewer rat drug addict criminal of the gutters, framed you, the divine and holy nurse student, for possession of a half empty sandwich bag of weed."

A ringing in his ears 

"Does this shit come to you naturally, Liam?"

deafs him to the world.

"Is your imagination naturally this fruitful?"

And Liam can't think anymore. 

"I'm never gonna be a nurse. You fucked all that up. All because you wanted to get high on some weed. You fucked up everything for me."

"First it was your sacred job as a nurse, now I'm the bane of your existence. Did I burn down your village as well, Liam? Did I burn your crops? Poison your water supply?" 

"I don't expect you to understand that your actions have consequences when you're just a useless fucking pothead who spends his time getting high and rotting away in bed. I bet you missed having someone to clean up after you." And he shrugs. "That's all I'm for."

Louis licks his lips. Keeps the bottom one under his teeth for the longest time. And he says it so quietly, sincerely, "You know you really keep making it sound like I'm some fucking lowlife and you're just so much better than me so I'd rather you shut the fuck up before you say some shit you're really gonna regret."

Too late. "You are a lowlife." 

It sounds horrible coming from Liam's mouth— cruelty.

And it looks awful on Louis's face— hurt. Real hurt. When he cocks his brow with a clumsy, forced smirk before looking out the window to hide his face. Hide the look of horror. The look of pain.

"Who's the one who dropped out of uni and is working at a DVD rental store at 25 instead of having a fucking career? Who's the one without a future? Who's the one with a bunch of pothead losers for friends? Because it's not me, Louis. And it's fucking hilarious how you always try to make me out to be the pathetic loser like I'm so fucking funny and so fucking sad. You love doing that. You know why? Because you're the fucking loser, Louis! Ever since I fucking met you, you've fucked up my life!"

Louis doesn't say anything.

"That's the way it's always been. You fucking up my life. You ruining my life. I got bad marks because of you, I lost my friends because of you, and now my fucking career as a nurse has been completely destroyed because _I_ got caught with _your_ weed."

He just takes a deep breath.

"I don't want this, Louis."

And lets it go. "Just say me." His voice comes out broken and he has to clear his throat. "You don't want me."

"...You're right. I should just say it."

"Oh now you wanna break up over a ninety quid fine. That's— that's brilliant." And he stays quiet, waiting for Liam to say something. But he's only met with silence. And he panics, turning his head forward again as he bounces his knee, breaths a bit heavier. And he warns him pathetically, "If you're really, genuinely thinking about it Liam... If you're seriously gonna sit here and talk about how you're sick of me over—" His voice breaks before he can finish. "Shit!"

"It's not just the fine. It'd be nice if it was. It's never just one thing with you."

He chuckles. "You've been thinking about it for a while, have you? Yeah?" Wiping the eyes he'll insist are dry. "Is that you're trying to tell me?"

"Maybe it is."

Louis's stomach drops, his heart dying with it. And his face turns red as he stammers a bit brainlessly, "So then why didn't you just get it the fuck over with?! You fucking asshole, you fucking liar! What the fuck did you stick around for then?! Huh?! You too much of a fucking pussy to fuck off?!" That's not what he wanted to say. It's not what he's thinking. Not even close.

"It's just always about you, innit? How you're always the fucking victim and you're always right. You're a selfish piece of shit. That's all you've ever been."

"Right, Liam, that's all I've ever been. That's why you stuck around for six years, yeah? Why the fuck did you stick around then, you fucking idiot?!" Louis doesn't understand.

"I don't know either, to be honest. Because you're just... You're just an awful fucking person. And I don't know how I've put up with your shit this whole time." 

"'You make me so happy, Louis. I've never been happier then when I'm with you, me life is fucking complete—' So what was that? Huh? What the fuck was that?"

"People say stupid things sometimes, I suppose. Are you surprised?" 

Louis's palms run back through his hair. His breathing is rushed and sloppy and it makes him dizzy. Every word clumsy and pathetic. "...I could kick your f-fucking teeth in for lying to me. I could beat the shit o-out of you."

"Yeah it's fucking _me_ , right?! Yeah, I'm— I'm tired because I just feel like it. I'm being picky in bloody fucking paradise! Because _you're_ perfect and _I'm_ not. So I'm just wrong, I'm an absolute fucking idiot. I'm making all of this up. Completely. Right."

"You never loved me."

"Maybe I didn't! Who gives a shit now?! You don't! Don't fucking act like you give a shit about me now! All you've ever done is treat me like absolute _shit_! You treat me like a fucking joke, you make me feel stupid all the fucking time. Always talking down on me like you're better than me. You gonna try and tell me none of that's true? You don't make fun of me? You don't make me feel stupid? You never act like you're better than me?"

"Am I a fucking mind reader? How the fuck am I supposed to know how you feel if you don't tell me anything!"

"Don't act fucking stupid. You're so clever, you're so goddamn smart, yeah? But not now, yeah? Suddenly you just don't know. Poor little Tommo, just can't understand his dimwitted boyfriend. Jesus, I just can't fucking _stand_ you! With you I'm always wrong, you're right. I'm the piece of shit. You don't care about me. Well congrats, mate, I don't give a fuck about you either. I don't."

"Nice. That's terrific, Liam. Have you quite finished?"

"You're a child. You're a fucking child. Living with you is like being stuck with a child who can't do shit for themselves. You're just incapable of doing anything right, you can't do anything you're not fucking good at shit. Your sad little life's not going anywhere and all you wanna do is keep me around like a ball on your chain. That's all it is. Go ahead, _please_ , Louis, beat the shit out of me. Do kick my teeth in. Like you fucking would anyway, you pussy."

"I fucking would. I fucking would. I fucking hate you. I hate you so fucking much. You're a fucking lowlife you're a fucking scumbag."

"Fucking, fucking, fucking..."

"You never gave a shit about me. You were just waiting the stupidest fucking excuse to break up with me. Made me waste all this fucking time... All this time being a fucking liar. Acting like... like I'm just the worst person ever and I'm just so fucking evil and I treat you like such shit every fucking day and I don't care about you. When you just wanna fuck off and shag someone else."

"Now I'm cheating on you! I can't fucking believe you! Keep looking for any excuse. Anything to put the blame on me. This is all your fucking fault, mate. It's all on you this time. I'm sorry. I hate to break it to y—"

"You're packing up all your shit and you're getting the fuck out of me flat. You're getting the fuck out tonight."

Wait.

"Oh so you're kicking me out. That's lovely."

What just happened?

Liam turns his head to his left to look at Louis. Blinking to try and get his vision clear. "So that's it?" He shrugs. "It's over, just like that." What is he saying?

"Don't fucking talk to me."

Waking up in a burning house is a curious thing. It doesn't really make sense how you could sleep through all that smoke and heat. How long must that warmth have felt lovely and comfortable before the body realized something was wrong? Before it realized it wasn't stopping? "Oh for fuck's sake!" 

Liam wants to pull over but he's afraid of doing anything except driving in a straight line. His head feels heavy and his stomach is beginning to hurt. There's a knock in his consciousness like an urgent visitor hitting the entrance door, begging to deliver an urgent package. The right words, maybe. A morsel of memory that lets Liam remember exactly what he said and why he said it. A pill that will make him go back in time. But instead he just babbles with wide, panicked eyes. 

"You just... This is so fucking stupid! This is such fucking shit!" 

"Fucking, fucking, fucking..."

 _No, please._ "God, if you'd just _listened_ to me!" That's not the right thing to say. "If you'd just tried to fucking work things out and weren't such a ... brick fucking wall it wouldn't have had to fucking come to this!" That won't work either. "If you weren't so goddamn stubborn and just admitted that you could ever possibly be at fault for anything at all, this wouldn't be fucking happening! You know?!" None of that will do. It shouldn't be surprising when he's met with a threat.

"I'm this close to bashing your fucking head into the steering wheel, I swear to God. If you don't shut the fuck up..." 

_Nonono please please._ The reality is coming down like a setting sun and Liam doesn't know what to do. "Louis... I love you, alright?"

"Oh _fuck you! Shut the fuck up!!_ "

That's never made Louis angry before. "What?!"

"How did you think this was gonna play out in your fucking head, you manipulative little shit?! That I say, 'I love you too. I don't wanna lose you, darling. I'll change, I promise.' Yeah?! Is that what you expected?! That I play along to your little plan?!" 

_Is that what I was doing? Is that what I wanted?_ "There's no fucking _plan_! There's no fucking plan!" He's just lying. "Jesus _Christ_... What, you're mad I still care? Don't be so fucking stubborn."

"Just shut up."

 _No, please! Please listen to me!_ "You just wanna throw it all away, just like that? Six years gone like... like it's nothing."

"Fuck you, alright? Go fuck yourself. I don't... I don't actually think I've hated someone as much as I hate you right now. I don't think I've actually ever met someone that low."

 _Apologize! Fucking say something!_ "Oh, that's lovely."

"You cynical fucking bastard. When you've got something to say you say it to me face. When you're fucking sick of me, you say it to me face. You say it right when you mean it. Not nag at me like a bitch and fuck off without telling me anything just so you can throw it in me face later. You know, maybe then I'd know there was a problem. Maybe then I'd have had the chance to see that I was wrong. But you can go _fuck_ yourself now because I don't give a shit anymore. You can fucking rot I don't give a shit about you. We're fucking over. And don't even think of coming back. Because when I'm done, I'm done for good. I'm done forever."

Louis wasn't kidding. He really, really wasn't.

Liam can't help but frown, nuzzling into Louis's pillow. He remembers when his side of the bed always used to be so warm. But it's so cold now. He just can't stand it. Three weeks there hasn't been a body to lay in it. Not a live one, anyway.

A few days after the paramedics took Louis away Liam realized that if he lied down on Louis's side of the bed long enough, memories would come back to him in his dreams. Fragments always. Never in order. And only of that one night. But the price, it seems, is that every memory fills him with an overwhelming feeling of sorrow. So much that he doesn't get out of bed for two sleepless days. It must be Louis's. Liam likes to think of it as interest. It took him two weeks to gain back the memories he has of the argument they had the night he died. But it's stunted for the past six days. Nothing new comes back to him. Just replays of a most horrible incident he'd been blind to all this time, and Louis's debilitating grief that comes with it like a watermark.

In 2011 Louis was majoring in theater at The University of Sheffield. Always so fond of musicals. Always pretended he didn't know how to dance. There wasn't a word spoken to his friends about it for a year because he was worried they'd make fun of him. It wasn't the right time yet, he said. He told Liam he was waiting for something impressive to happen so that then he could reveal the news. At the foot of something new, a promise; a ticket venue to reference in the conversation. 

_"Otherwise they'll call me a faggot."_

_"But you do fancy men."_

_"Doesn't mean they have to know about it."_

_"Why be friends with them then?"_

_"Human relationships aren't black and white. They're me mates. I don't reckon they'll see me any differently but... I've just got too much going on with school to wanna deal with their shit."_

When Liam visited him on campus, he suddenly felt him as small a person as he actually was. For once. No lion man— just a boy. Glimpses of a youngling relaxed in his element. That's what frequent visits offered Liam, that first year he had to attend school without Louis. Senior and freshman— things were headed in a different direction. They were proper boyfriends at that point. Always together for the ride, of course. Even when they were apart.

It's a funny thing about rides.

Because a fateful car ride to buy a bottle of nutmeg for a curry chicken recipe on October 6, 2014 sent Louis's mother to the emergency room with a fractured hip and a concussion. A loose flap at the tip of her shoe got stuck on the gas pedal and shot the car out like a bullet into the back of a Honda minivan. The insurance company laid blame on her— therefore, the responsibility of compensation fell upon her too. Louis's mother received that letter a little after Christmas. Hospital bills, prescription medication, legal expenses, four young mouths to feed. Auditioning for plays doesn't put food on the table.

So Louis dropped out. Got himself two jobs. Paid and loaned and pawned for over a year until it all went away, and his mother and sisters were safe and could live in peace. Never got back to school after that. He never really said why. Just shrugged and changed the subject with a solemn smirk.

Liam's cruel for calling him a failure for an act of pure selflessness.

Horrible. 

Just horrible.

All those things he said to him. 

Cementing things in the physical world makes it difficult to undo. But it's actions that you really can't take back. Words are even worse; a step closer to something tangible, something that carries weight. And yet, no less permanent. If Liam's words from that night came together in a pile, they'd tower to a mountain that swallowed up the sky, and swell with a weight that could sink right through the ground and into the center of the earth. 

And all those words, all that weight...

...he gave those to Louis.

He doesn't know how he lasted this long without sinking into the ground. It's no wonder he couldn't get out of bed. Liam doesn't know what it means for him, his own destiny. Things should be clearer now that he remembers half of the night he died. It should offer him insight on what might've sparked this alleged murder. 

But Liam just can't get over finding out Louis was sad this whole time. Day 20. Still crying just thinking about it. And still thinking about it all.

"Have you watched Bridge To Terabithia?"

"The bridge to what?" Liam snorts. "What is that? A place?"

"No, it's a movie." There's a nice laugh with no such sharpness to make Liam feel stupid for asking. A pleasant change, though it's been a common one all night. "You've never watched it? With the kid from Hunger Games uh... what's his name— Peeta? Well he's not a kid, obviously. But the movie's quite old— Bridge to Terabithia. So... he was a kid then. Back then."

Liam doesn't say anything, opting instead for a quiet listen as he watches the steps of his shoes pitter and patter on the damp asphalt. 

But that doesn't suit Louis so much. He just _has_ to make noise. 

Liam can't say he was expecting to hear the front door opening.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I hope you look forward to chapters to come. Please leave kudos, and share with me your thoughts!


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